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THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


BY  EDITH  WHARTON 


A SON  AT  THE  FRONT 
THE  GREATER  INCLINATION 
THE  TOUCHSTONE 
CRUCIAL  INSTANCES 
THE  VALLEY  OF  DECISION 
SANCTUARY 

THE  DESCENT  OF  MAN 

THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

THE  FRUIT  OF  THE  TREE 

THE  HERMIT  AND  THE  WILD  WOMAN 

TALES  OF  MEN  AND  GHOSTS 

ETHAN  FROME 

THE  CUSTOM  OF  THE  COUNTRY 
XENGU 


m MOROCCO 

FIGHTING  FRANCE 

ITALIAN  BACKGROUNDS 

A MOTOR  FLIGHT  THROUGH  FRANCK 

ARTEMIS  TO  ACTION 

THE  DECORATION  OF  HOUSES 


CHARLES  SCRIBNERS  SONS 


4 


She  lingered  on  the  broad  stairway,  looking  down  into  the  hall  below. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

BY 

EDITH  WHARTON 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  A.  B.  WENZELL 


NEW  YORK 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 
MCMXXIII 


ws-r3i-l 


Copyright,  1905,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER’S  SONS 


Printed  in  the  United  States  o{  America 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


She  lingered  on  the  broad  stairway,  looking  down 
into  the  hall  below 

Frontispiece 

The  woman  continued  to  stare  as  Miss  Bart  swept  by 

Facing  p.  20 

" You  don’t  seem  to  remember  my  existence  now~ 
adays" 

188 

“1  mean  to  make  you  hear  me  out” 

234 

“ Oh,  Gerty,  the  Juries  . . . you  know  the  noise  of 
their  wings?” 

264 

‘‘Dear  Mr.  Selden,”  she  said,  “you  promised  to 
see  me  to  my  cab” 

362 

It  was  a good  deal  better  than  a broiling  Sunday 
in  town 

376 

“Look  at  those  spangles.  Miss  Bart, — every  one 
oj  ’em  sewed  on  crooked  ” 

466 

BOOK  I 


THE 


HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


I 


SELDEN  paused  in  surprise.  In  the  afternoon  rush 
of  the  Grand  Central  Station  his  eyes  had  been 
refreshed  by  the  sight  of  Miss  Lily  Bart. 

It  was  a Monday  in  early  September,  and  he  was  re- 


turning to  his  work  from  a hurried  dip  into  the  country; 


but  what  was  Miss  Bart  doing  in  town  at  that  season? 
If  she  had  appeared  to  be  catching  a train,  he  might 
have  inferred  that  he  had  come  on  her  in  the  act  of  transi- 
tion between  one  and  another  of  the  country-houses 
which  disputed  her  presence  after  the  close  of  the  New- 
port season;  but  her  desultory  air  perplexed  him.  She 
stood  apart  from  the  crowd,  letting  it  drift  by  her  to 
the  platform  or  the  street,  and  wearing  an  air  of  irreso- 
lution which  might,  as  he  surmised,  be  the  mask  of  a 
very  definite  purpose.  It  struck  him  at  once  that  she 
was  waiting  for  some  one,  but  he  hardly  knew  why  the 
idea  aiTested  him.  There  was  nothing  new  about  Lily 
Bart,  yet  he  could  never  see  her  without  a faint  move- 
ment of  interest:  it  was  characteristic  of  her  that  she 
always  roused  speculation,  that  her  simplest  acts  seemed 
the  result  of  far-reaching  intentions. 


[8] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


An  impulse  of  curiosity  made  him  turn  out  of  his  di- 
rect line  to  the  door,  and  stroll  past  her.  He  knew  that 
if  she  did  not  wish  to  be  seen  she  would  contrive  to  elude 
him ; and  it  amused  him  to  think  of  putting  her  skill  to 
the  test. 

“Mr.  Selden — what  good  luck!” 

She  came  forward  smiling,  eager  almost,  in  her  resolve 
to  intercept  him.  One  or  two  persons,  in  brushing  past 
them,  lingered  to  look;  for  Miss  Bart  was  a figure  to 
arrest  even  the  suburban  traveller  rushing  to  his  last 
train. 

Selden  had  never  seen  her  more  radiant.  Her  \’ivid 
head,  relieved  against  the  dull  tints  of  the  crowd,  made 
her  more  conspicuous  than  in  a ball-room,  and  under 
her  dark  hat  and  veil  she  regained  the  girlish  smooth- 
ness, the  purity  of  tint,  that  she  was  beginning  to  lose 
after  eleven  years  of  late  hours  and  indefatigable  dan- 
cing. Was  it  really  eleven  years,  Selden  found  himself 
wondering,  and  had  she  indeed  reached  the  nine-and- 
twentieth  birthday  with  which  her  rivals  credited  her.'* 

“What  luck!”  she  repeated.  “How  nice  of  you  to  come 
to  my  rescue!” 

He  responded  joyfully  that  to  do  so  was  his  mission 
in  hfe,  and  asked  what  form  the  rescue  was  to  take. 

“Oh,  almost  any — even  to  sitting  on  a bench  and 
talking  to  me.  One  sits  out  a cotillion — why  not  sit  out 
a train  ? It  is  n’t  a bit  hotter  here  than  in  Mrs.  Van  Os- 

r 4 ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


burgh’s  conservatory — and  some  of  the  women  are  not 
a bit  uglier.” 

She  broke  off,  laughing,  to  explain  that  she  had  come 
up  to  town  from  Tuxedo,  on  her  way  to  the  Gus  Tre- 
nors’  at  Bellomont,  and  had  missed  the  three-fifteen  train 
to  Rhinebeck. 

“And  there  isn’t  another  till  half-past  five.”  She  con- 
sulted the  little  jewelled  watch  among  her  laces.  “Just 
two  hours  to  wait.  And  I don’t  know  what  to  do  with 
myself.  My  maid  came  up  this  morning  to  do  some  shop- 
ping for  me,  and  was  to  go  on  to  Bellomont  at  one 
o’clock,  and  my  aunt’s  house  is  closed,  and  I don’t  know 
a soul  in  town.”  She  glanced  plaintively  about  the  sta- 
tion. “It  is  hotter  than  Mrs.  Van  Osburgh’s,  after  all. 
If  you  can  spare  the  time,  do  take  me  somewhere  for  a 
, breath  of  air.” 

He  declared  himself  entirely  at  her  disposal : the  ad- 
venture struck  him  as  diverting.  A^  a spectator,  he  had 
always  enjoyed  Lily  Bart;  and  his  course  lay  so  far  out 
of  her  orbit  that  it  amused  him  to  be  drawn  for  a mo- 
ment into  the  sudden  intimacy  which  her  proposal  im- 
plied. 

“Shall  we  go  over  to  Sherry’s  for  a cup  of  tea.?” 

She  smiled  assentingly,  and  then  made  a slight  grimace. 

“So  many  people  come  up  to  town  on  a Monday — ■ 
one  is  sure  to  meet  a lot  of  bores.  I’m  as  old  as  the  hilk, 
of  course,  and  it  ought  not  to  make  any  difference;  but 

[ 5 1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


if  Vm  old  enough,  you  ’re  not,”  she  objected  gaily.  “I’m 
dying  for  tea — but  isn’t  there  a quieter  place.^” 

He  answered  her  smile,  which  rested  on  him  vividly, 
^^fer  discretions  interested  him  almost  as  much  as  her 
/imprudences:  he  was  so  sure  that  both  were  part  of  the 
; same  carefully-elaborated  plan.  In  judging  Miss  Bart,  he 
had  always  made  use  of  the  “argument  from  design.” 

“The  resources  of  New  York  are  rather  meagre,”  he 
said;  “but  I’ll  find  a hansom  first,  and  then  we’ll  invent 
something.” 

He  led  her  through  the  throng  of  returning  holiday- 
makers, past  sallow-faced  girls  in  preposterous  hats,  and 
flat-chested  women  struggling  with  paper  bundles  and 
palm-leaf  fans.  Was  it  possible  that  she  belonged  to  the 
same  race.!*  The  dinginess,  the  crudity  of  this  average 
section  of  womanhood  made  him  feel  how  highly  spe- 
cialized she  was. 

A rapid  shower  had  cooled  the  air,  and  clouds  stiU 
hung  refreshingly  over  the  moist  street. 

“ How  delicious ! Let  us  walk  a little,”  she  said  as  they 
emerged  from  the  station. 

They  turned  into  Madison  Avenue  and  began  to  stroll 
northward.  As  she  moved  beside  him,  with  her  long  light 
step,  Selden  was  conscious  of  taking  a luxurious  pleasure 
in  her  nearness:  in  the  modelling  of  her  little  ear,  the 
crisp  upward  wave  of  her  hair — was  it  ever  so  slightly 
brightened  by  art.^ — and  the  thick  planting  of  her 

[ 6 ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


straight  black  lashes.  Everything  about  her  was  at  once 
vigorous  and  exquisite,  at  once  strong  and  fine.  He  had 
a confused  sense  that  she  must  have  cost  a great  deal  to 
make,  that  a great  many  dull  and  ugly  people  must,  in 
some  mysterious  way,  have  been  sacrificed  to  produce 
her.  He  was  aware  that  the  qualities  distinguishing  her 
from  the  herd  of  her  sex  were  chiefly  external ; as  though 
a fine  glaze  of  beauty  and  fastidiousness  had  been  ap- 
plied to  vulgar  clay.  Yet  the  analogy  left  him  unsatis- 
fied, for  a coarse  texture  will  not  take  a high  finish;  and 
was  it  not  possible  that  the  material  was  fine,  but  that 
circumstance  had  fashioned  it  into  a futile  shape? 

As  he  reached  this  point  in  his  speculations  the  sun 
came  out,  and  her  lifted  parasol  cut  off  his  enjoyment. 
A moment  or  two  later  she  paused  with  a sigh. 

“Oh,  deai^X’m  so  hot  and  thirsty — and  what  a hid- 
eous place  New  York  is !”  She  looked  despairingly  up  and 
down  the  dreary  thoroughfare.  “Other  cities  put  on  their 
best  clothes  in  summer,  but  New  York  seems  to  sit  in 
its  shirt-sleeves.”  Her  eyes  wandered  down  one  of  the 
side-streets.  “Some  one  has  had  the  humanity  to  plant 
a few  trees  over  there.  Let  us  go  into  the  shade.” 

“I  am  glad  my  street  meets  with  your  approval,”  said 
Selden  as  they  turned  the  corner. 

“Your  street?  Do  you  live  here?” 

She  glanced  with  interest  along  the  new  brick  and 
limestone  house-fronts,  fantastically  varied  in  obedience 

[7] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


to  the  American  craving  for  novelty,  but  fresh  and  in* 
viting  with  their  awnings  and  flower-boxes. 

“Ah,  yes — to  be  sure:  The  Benedick.  MTiat  a nice- 
looking  building!  I don’t  think  I’ve  ever  seen  it  before.” 
She  looked  across  at  the  flat-house  with  its  marble  porch 
and  pseudo-Georgian  fa^de.  “Which  are  your  windows.? 
Those  with  the  awnings  down?” 

“On  the  top  floor — yes.” 

“And  that  nice  little  balcony  is  yours?  How  cool  it 
looks  up  there!” 

He  paused  a moment.  “ Come  up  and  see,”  he  suggested. 
“I  can  give  you  a cup  of  tea  in  no  time — and  you  won’t 
meet  any  bores.” 

Her  colour  deepened — she  still  had  the  art  of  blush- 
ing at  the  right  time — but  she  took  the  suggestion  as 
lightly  as  it  was  made. 

“Why  not?  It’s  too  tempting — I’U  take  the  risk,” 
she  declared. 

“Oh,  I’m  not  dangerous,”  he  said  in  the  same  key.  In 
truth,  he  had  never  liked  her  as  well  as  at  that  moment. 
He  knew  she  had  accepted  without  afterthought : he  could 
never  be  a factor  in  her  calculations,  and  there  was  a 
surprise,  a refreshment  almost,  in  the  spontaneity  of  her 
consent. 

On  the  threshold  he  paused  a moment,  feeling  for  his 
latch-key. 

“There ’s  no  one  here ; but  I have  a servant  who  is  sup- 

[8] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


posed  to  come  in  the  mornings,  and  it’s  just  possible 
he  may  have  put  out  the  tea-things  and  provided  some 
cake.” 

He  ushered  her  into  a slip  of  a hall  hung  with  old 
prints.  She  noticed  the  letters  and  notes  heaped  on  the 
table  among  his  gloves  and  sticks;  then  she  found  her- 
self in  a small  library,  dark  but  cheerful,  with  its  walls 
of  books,  a pleasantly  faded  Turkey  rug,  a littered  desk, 
and,  as  he  had  foretold,  a tea-tray  on  a low  table  near 
the  window.  A breeze  had  sprung  up,  swaying  inward  the 
muslin  curtains,  and  bringing  a fresh  scent  of  mignon- 
ette and  petunias  from  the  flower-box  on  the  balcony. 

Lily  sank  with  a sigh  into  one  of  the  shabby  leather 
chairs. 

“How  delicious  to  have  a place  like  this  all  to  one’s 
self!  What  a miserable  thing  it  is  to  be  a woman.”  She 
leaned  back  in  a luxury  of  discontent. 

Selden  was  rummaging  in  a cupboard  for  the  cake. 

“Even  women,”  he  said,  “have  been  known  to  enjoy 
the  privileg  es  of  a flat.” 

“Oh,  governesses — or  widows.  But  not  girls — not 
poor,  miserable,  marriageable  girls!” 

“I  even  know  a girl  who  lives  in  a flat.” 

She  sat  up  in  surprise.  “You  do.?” 

“I  do,”  he  assured  her,  emerging  from  the  cupboard 
with  the  sought-for  cake. 

“Oh,  I know — you  mean  Gerty  Fan^^^She  smiled 

r^] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


a little  unkindly.  “But  I said  marriageable — and  be- 
sides, she  has  ahoi-rid  little  place,  and  no  maid,  and  such 
queer  things  to  eat.  Her  cook  does  the  washing  and  the 
food  tastes  of  soap.  I should  hate  that,  you  know.” 

“You  shouldn’t  dine  with  her  on  wash-days,”  said 
Selden,  cutting  the  cake. 

They  both  laughed,  and  he  knelt  by  the  table  to  light 
the  lamp  under  the  kettle,  while  she  measured  out  the 
tea  into  a little  tea-pot  of  green  glaze.  As  he  watched 
her  hand,  polished  as  a bit  of  old  ivory,  with  its  slender 
pink  nails,  and  the  sapphire  bracelet  slipping  over  her 
wrist,  he  was  stinack  with  the  irony  of  suggesting  to  her 
such  a life  as  his  cousin  Gertrude  Farish  had  chosen.  She 
was  so  evidently  the  victim  of  the  civilization  which  had 
produced  her,  that  the  links  of  her  bracelet  seemed  like 
manacles  chaining  her  to  her  fate. 

She  seemed  to  read  his  thought.  “It  was  homd  of  me 
to  say  that  of  Gerty,”  she  said  vdth  charming  compunc- 
tion. “I  forgot  she  was  your  cousin.  But  we’re  so  differ- 
ent, you  know:  she  likes  being  good,  and  I like  being 
happy.  And  besides,  sh^  is  free  and  I am  n^ot.  If  I were, 
I daresay  I could  manage  to  be  happy  even  in  her  flat. 
It  must  be  pure  bhss  to  arrange  the  furniture  just  as 
one  likes,  and  give  all  the  horrors  to  the  ash-man.  If  I 
could  only  do  over  my  aunt’s  drawing-room  I know  T 
should  be  a better  woman.” 

“Is  it  so  very  bad.^”  he  asked  sympathetically. 

[10] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


She  smiled  at  him  across  the  tea-pot  which  she  was 
holding  up  to  be  filled. 

“That  shows  how  seldom  you  come  there.  Why  don’t 
you  come  oftener?” 

“When  I do  come,  it’s  not  to  look  at  Mrs.  Peniston’s 
furniture.” 

“Nonsense,”  she  said.  “You  don’t  come  at  all — and 
yet  we  get  on  so  well  when  we  meet.” 

“Perhaps  that’s  the  reason,”  he  answered  promptly. 
“I’m  afraid  I haven’t  any  cream,  you  know — shall  you 
mind  a slice  of  lemon  instead 

“I  shall  like  it  better.”  She  waited  while  he  cut  the 
lemon  and  dropped  a thin  disk  into  her  cup.  “But  that 
is  not  the  reason,”  she  insisted. 

“The  reason  for  what.?” 

“ For  your  never  coming.”  She  leaned  forward  with  a 
shade  of  perplexity  in  her  charming  eyes.  “I  wish  I knew 
— I wish  I could  make  you  out.  Of  course  I know  there 
are  men  who  don’t  like  me — one  can  tell  that  at  a glance. 
And  there  are  others  who  are  afraid  of  me:  they  think 
I want  to  marry  them.”  She  smiled  up  at  him  frankly. 
“But  I don’t  think  you  dislike  me — and  you  can’t  pos* 
sibly  think  I want  to  marry  you.” 

“No — I absolve  you  of  that,”  he  agreed. 

“WeU,  then ?” 

He  had  canied  his  cup  to  the  fireplace,  and  stood 
leaning  against  the  chimney-piece  and  looking  down  on 

[11] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


her  with  an  air  of  indolent  amusement.  The  provocation 
in  her  eyes  increased  his  amusement — he  had  not  sup* 
posed  she  would  waste  her  powder  on  such  small  game; 
but  perhaps  she  was  only  keeping  her  hand  in;  or  per- 
haps a girl  of  her  type  had  no  conversation  but  of  the 
personal  kind.  At  any  rate,  she  was  amazingly  pretty, 
and  he  had  asked  her  to  tea  and  must  live  up  to  his  ob- 
ligations. 

“Well,  then,”  he  said  with  a plunge, “perhaps  that's 
the  reason.” 

“What.?” 

“The  fact  that  you  don’t  want  to  many  me.  Perhaps 
I don’t  regard  it  as  such  a strong  inducement  to  go  and 
see  you.”  He  felt  a slight  shiver  down  his  spine  as  he 
ventured  this,  but  her  laugh  reassured  him. 

“Dear  Mr.  Selden,  that  wasn’t  worthy  of  you.  It’s 
stupid  of  you  to  make  love  to  me,  and  it  is  n’t  like  you 
to  be  stupid.”  She  leaned  back,  sipping  her  tea  with  an 
air  so  enchantingly  judicial  that,  if  they  had  been  in  her 
aunt’s  drawing-room,  he  might  almost  have  tried  to  dis- 
prove her  deduction. 

“Don’t  you  see,”  she  continued,  “that  there  are  men 
enough  to  say  pleasant  things  to  me,  and  that  what  I 
want  is  a friend  who  won’t  be  afraid  to  say  disagreeable 
ones  when  I need  them.?  Sometimes  I have  fancied  you 
might  be  that  fi-iend — I don’t  know  why,  except  that  you 
are  neither  a prig  nor  a bounder,  and  that  I should  n't 
[ 12  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

have  to  pretend  with  you  or  be  on  my  guard  against 
you.”  Her  voice  had  dropped  to  a note  of  seriousness,  and 
she  sat  gazing  up  at  him  with  the  troubled  gravity  of  a 
child. 

“You  don’t  know  how  much  I need  such  a friend,” 
she  said.  “My  aunt  is  full  of  copy-book  axioms,  but  they 
were  all  meant  to  apply  to  conduct  in  the  early  fifties.  I 
always  feel  that  to  live  up  to  them  would  include  wear- 
ing book-muslin  with  gigot  sleeves.  And  the  other  wo- 
men— my  best  fi-iends — well,  they  use  me  or  abuse  me; 
but  they  don’t  care  a straw  what  happens  to  me.  I’ve 
been  about  too  long — people  are  getting  tired  of  me_; 
they  are  beginning  to  say  I ought  to  marry.” 

There  was  a moment’s  pause,  during  which  Selden 
meditated  one  or  two  replies  calculated  to  add  a mo- 
mentary zest  to  the  situation;  but  he  rejected  them 
in  favour  of  the  simple  question;  “Well,  why  don’t 
you?” 

She  coloured  and  laughed.  “Ah,  I see  you  are  a friend 
after  all,  and  that  is  one  of  the  disagreeable  things  I was 
asking  for.” 

“It  wasn’t  meant  to  be  disagreeable,”  he  returned 
amicably.  “Is n’^mamage  jour  vocation?  Isn’t  it  what 
you  ’re  all  brought  up  for?” 

She  sighed.  ‘H  suppose  so.  What  e^se  is  there?” 

“Exactly.  And  so  why  not  take  the  plunge  and  have 


it  over?” 


[13] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  “You  speak  sis  if  I ought 
^ marry  the  first  man  who  came  along.” 

“I  did  n’t  mean  to  imply  that  you  are  as  hard  put  to 
it  as  that.  But  there  must  be  some  one  with  the  requi- 
site qualifications.” 

She  shook  her  head  wearily.  “ I threw  away  one  or  two 
good  chances  when  I first  came  out — I suppose  every 
girl  does;  and  you  know  I am  horribly  poor — and  very 
expensive.  I must  have  a great  deal  of  money/* 

Selden  had  turned  to  reach  for  a cigarette-box  on  the 
mantelpiece. 

“What’s  become  of  Dill  worth.?”  he  asked. 

“Oh,  his  mother  was  frightened — she  was  afraid  I 
should  have  all  the  family  jewels  reset.  And  she  wanted 
me  to  promise  that  I wouldn’t  do  over  the  drawing- 
room.” 

“The  very  thing  you  are  marrying  for!” 

“Exactly.  So  she  packed  him  off  to  India.” 

“Hard  luck — but  you  can  do  better  than  DiU worth.” 

He  offered  the  box,  and  she  took  out  three  or  four 
cigarettes,  putting  one  between  her  lips  and  slipping 
the  others  into  a little  gold  case  attached  to  her  long 
pearl  chain. 

“Have  I time.?  Just  a whiff,  then.”  She  leaned  forward, 
holding  the  tip  of  her  cigarette  to  his.  As  she  did  so,  he 
noted,  with  a purely  impersonal  enjoyment,  how  evenly 
the  black  lashes  were  set  in  her  smooth  white  lids,  and 

[14] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


how  the  purplish  shade  beneath  them  melted  into  the 
pure  pallour  of  the  cheek. 

She  began  to  saunter  about  the  room,  examining  the 
book-shelves  between  the  puffs  of  her  cigarette-smoke. 
Some  of  the  volumes  had  the  ripe  tints  of  ^ood  tooling 
and  old  morocco,  and  her  eyes  lingered  on  them  caress- 
ingly, not  with  the  appreciation  of  the  expert,  but  with 
the  pleasure  in  agreeable  tones  and  textures  that  was 
one  of  her  inmost  susceptibilities.  Suddenly  her  expres- 
sion changed  from  desultory  enjoyment  to  active  con- 
jecture, and  she  turned  to  Selden  with  a question. 

“You  collect,  don’t  you — you  know  about  first  edi- 
tions and  things?” 

“As  much  as  a man  may  who  has  no  money  to  spend. 
Now  and  then  I pick  up  something  in  the  rubbish  heap ; 
and  I go  and  look  on  at  the  big  sales.” 

She  had  again  addressed  herself  to  the  shelves,  but 
her  eyes  now  swept  them  inattentively,  and  he  saw  that 
she  was  preoccupied  with  a new  idea. 

“And  Americana — do  you  collect  Americana?” 

Selden  stared  and  laughed. 

“No,  that’s  rather  out  of  my  line.  I’m  not  really  a 
collector,  you  see;  I simply  like  to  have  good  editions  of 
the  books  I am  fond  of.” 

She  made  a slight  grimace.  “And  Americana  are  hor- 
ribly dull,  I suppose?” 

“I  should  fancy  so — except  to  the  historian.  But  your 

[.  15  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


real  collector  values  a thing  for  its  rarity.  I don't  sup- 
pose the  buyers  of  Americana  sit  up  reading  them  all 
night — old  Jefferson  Gryce  certainly  didn’t.” 

She  was  listening  with  keen  attention.  “ And  yet  they 
fetch  fabulous  prices,  don’t  they?  It  seems  so  odd  to  want 
to  pay  a lot  for  an  ugly  badly-printed  book  that  one  is 
never  going  to  read!  And  I suppose  most  of  the  owners 
of  Americana  are  not  historians  either?” 

“ N j ; very  few  of  the  historians  can  afford  to  buy  them. 
They  have  to  use  those  in  the  public  libraries  or  in  pri- 
vate collections.  It  seems  to  be  the  mere  rarity  that  at- 
tracts the  average  collector.” 

He  had  seated  himself  on  an  am  of  the  chair  near 
which  she  was  standing,  and  she  continued  to  question 
him,  asking  which  were  the  rarest  volumes,  whether  the 
Jefferson  Gryce  collection  was  really  considered  the  finest 
in  the  world,  and  what  was  the  largest  price  ever  fetched 
by  a single  volume. 

It  was  so  pleasant  to  sit  there  looking  up  at  her,  as 
she  lifted  now  one  book  and  then  another  from  the  shelves, 
fluttering  the  pages  between  her  fingers,  while  her  droop- 
ing profile  was  outlined  against  the  warm  background 
of  old  bindings,  that  he  talked  on  without  pausing  to 
wonder  at  her  sudden  interest  in  so  unsuggestive  a sub- 
ject.  But  he  could  never  be  long  with  her  without  trjnng 
to  find  a reason  for  what  she  was  doing,  and  as  she  re- 
placed his  fii-st  edition  of  La  Bruyere  and  turned  away 

f 16] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


from  the  bookcases,  he  began  to  ask  himself  what  she  had 
been  driving  at.  Her  next  question  was  not  of  a nature 
to  enlighten  him.  She  paused  before  him  with  a smile 
which  seemed  at  once  designed  to  admit  him  to  her  famil- 
iarity, and  to  remind  him  of  the  restrictions  it  imposed. 

“Don’t  you  ever  mind,”  she  asked  suddenly,  “not  be- 
ing rich  enough  to  buy  all  the  books  you  want?” 

He  followed  her  glance  about  the  room,  with  its  worn 
furniture  and  shabby  walls. 

“Don’t  I just?  Do  you  take  me  for  a saint  on  a pillar?” 

“And  having  to  work — do  you  mind  that?” 

“Oh,  the  work  itself  is  not  so  bad — I’m  rather  fond 
of  the  law.” 

“ No ; but  the  being  tied  down : the  routine — don’t  you 
ever  want  to  get  away,  to  see  new  places  and  people?” 

“Horribly — especially  when  I see  all  my  friends  rush- 
ing to  the  steamer.” 

She  drew  a sympathetic  breath.  “But  do  you  mind 
enough — to  marry  to  get  out  of  it?” 

Selden  broke  into  a laugh.  “God  forbid!”  he  declared. 

She  rose  with  a sigh,  tossing  her  cigarette  into  the 


grate. 


“Ah,  there’s  the  difference — a girl  must,  a man  may 
if  he  chooses.”  She  surveyed  him  critically.  “Your  coat’s 
a little  shabby — but  who  cares?  It  does  n’t  keep  people 
from  asking  you  to  dine.  If  I were  shabby  no  one  would 
have  me;  a woman  is  asked  out  as  much  for  her  clothes 


[ W] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


as  for  herself.  The  clothes  are  the  baickground,  the  frame, 
if  you  like:  they  don’t  make  success,  but  they  are  a part 
of  it.  Who  wants  a dingy  woman.?  We  are  expected  to 
be  pretty  and  well-dressed  till  we  drop — and  if  we  can’t 
keep  it  up  alone,  we  have  to  go  into  partnership.” 

Selden  glanced  at  her  with  amusement : it  was  impos- 
sible, even  with  her  lovely  eyes  imploring  him,  to  take  a 
sentimental  view  of  her  case. 

“Ah,  well,  there  must  be  plenty  of  capital  on  the  look- 
out for  such  an  investment.  Perhaps  you’ll  meet  your 
fate  to-night  at  the  Trenors’.” 

She  returned  his  look  interrogatively. 

“I  thought  you  might  be  going  there — oh,  not  in  that 
capacity!  But  there  are  to  be  a lot  of  your  set — Gwen 
Van  Osburgh,  the  Wetheralls,  Lady  Cressida  Raith — 
and  the  George  Dorsets.” 

She  paused  a moment  before  the  last  name,  and  shot 
a query  through  her  lashes ; but  he  remained  imperturb- 
able. 

“Mrs.  Trenor  asked  me;  but  I can’t  get  away  till  the 
end  of  the  week ; and  those  big  parties  bore  me.” 

“Ah,  so  they  do  me,”  she  exclaimed. 

“Then  why  go?” 

“It’s  part  of  the  business — you  forget!  And  besides, 
if  I did  n’t,  I should  be  playing  bezique  with  my  aunt  at 
Richfield  Springs.” 

“That’s  almost  as  bad  as  marrv’ing  DiUworth,”  he 

[ 18  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


agreed,  and  they  both  laughed  for  pure  pleasure  in  theii 
sudden  intimacy. 

She  glanced  at  the  clock. 

“Dear  me!  I must  be  off.  It’s  after  five.” 

She  paused  before  the  mantelpiece,  studying  herself  in 
the  mirror  while  she  adjusted  her  veil.  The  attitude  re- 
vealed the  long  slope  of  her  slender  sides,  which  gave  a 
kind  of  wild-wood  grace  to  her  outline — as  though  she 
were  a captured  dryad  subdued  to  the  conventions  of  the 
drawing-room ; and  Selden  reflected  that  it  was  the  same 
streak  of  sylvan  freedom  in  her  nature  that  lent  such  sa- 
vour to  her  artificiality. 

He  followed  her  across  the  room  to  the  entrance-hall; 
but  on  the  threshold  she  held  out  her  hand  with  a ges- 
ture of  leave-taking. 

“It’s  been  delightful;  and  now  you  will  have  to  re- 
turn my  visit.” 

“But  don’t  you  want  me  to  see  you  to  the  station.?” 

“No;  good  bye  here,  please.” 

She  let  her  hand  lie  in  his  a moment,  smiling  up  at 
him  adorably. 

“Good  bye,  then — and  good  luck  at  Bellomont!”  he 
said,  opening  the  door  for  her. 

On  the  landing  she  paused  to  look  about  her.  There 
were  a thousand  chances  to  one  against  her  meeting  any- 
body, but  one  could  never  tell,  and  she  always  paid  for 
her  rare  indiscretions  by  a violent  reaction  of  prudence. 

[ 19  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


There  was  no  one  in  sight,  however,  but  a char-woman 
who  was  scrubbing  the  stairs.  Her  o^vn  stout  person  and 
its  sun'ounding  implements  took  up  so  much  room  that 
Lily,  to  pass  her,  had  to  gather  up  her  skirts  and  brush 
against  the  wall.  As  she  did  so,  the  woman  paused  in  her 
work  and  looked  up  curiously,  resting  her  clenched  red 
fists  on  the  wet  cloth  she  had  just  dravm  from  her  pail.  She 
had  a broad  sallow  face,  slightly  pitted  with  small-pox, 
and  thin  straw-coloured  hair  through  which  her  scalp 
shone  unpleasantly. 

“I  beg  your  pardon,”  said  Lily,  intending  by  her  po- 
liteness to  convey  a criticism  of  the  other’s  manner. 

The  woman,  without  answering,  pushed  her  pail  aside, 
and  continued  to  stare  as  Miss  Bart  swept  by  with  a 
murmur  of  silken  linings.  Lily  felt  herself  flushing  under 
the  look.  "What  did  the  creature  suppose?  Could  one 
never  do  the  simplest,  the  most  harmless  thing,  vnthout 
subjecting  one’s  self  to  some  odious  conjecture?  Half  way 
do^vn  the  next  flight,  she  smiled  to  think  that  a char- 
woman’s stare  should  so  perturb  her.  The  poor  thing  was 
probably  dazzled  by  such  an  unwonted  apparition.  But 
were  such  apparitions  unwonted  on  Selden’s  staii*s?  IVIiss 
Bart  was  not  familiar  wdth  the  moral  code  of  bachelors’ 
flat-houses,  and  her  colour  rose  again  as  it  occuiTed  to 
her  that  the  woman’s  persistent  gaze  implied  a groping 
among  past  associations.  But  she  put  aside  the  thought 
with  a smile  at  her  owm  fears,  and  hastened  downward, 
[ 20  1 


The  woman  continued  to  stare  as  Miss  Bart  swept  by. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


wondering  if  she  should  find  a cab  short  of  Fifth  Avenue. 

Under  the  Georgian  porch  she  paused  again,  scanning 
the  street  for  a hansom.  None  was  in  sight,  but  as  she 
reached  the  sidewalk  she  ran  against  a small  glossy- 
looking man  with  a gardenia  in  his  coat,  who  raised  his 
hat  with  a surprised  exclamation. 

“Miss  Bart.?  Well — of  all  people!  This  is  luck,”  he  de- 
clared; and  she  caught  a twinkle  of  amused  curiosity  be- 
tween his  screwed-up  lids. 

“Oh,  Mr.  Rosedale — how  are  you?”  she  said,  per- 
ceiving that  the  irrepressible  annoyance  on  her  face  was 
reflected  in  the  sudden  intimacy  of  his  smile. 

Mr.  Rosedale  stood  scanning  her  with  interest  and  ap- 
proval. He  was  a plump  rosy  man  of  the  blond  Jewish 
type,  with  smart  London  clothes  fitting  him  like  uphol- 
stery, and  small  sidelong  eyes  which  gave  him  the  air  of 
appraising  people  as  if  they  were  bric-a-brac.  He  glanced 
up  inteiTogatively  at  the  porch  of  the  Benedick. 

“Been  up  to  town  for  a little  shopping,  I suppose?” 
he  said,  in  a tone  which  had  the  familiarity  of  a touch. 

Miss  Bart  shrank  from  it  slightly,  and  then  flung  her- 
self into  precipitate  explanations. 

“Yes — I came  up  to  see  my  dress-maker.  I am  just  on 
my  way  to  catch  the  train  to  the  Trenors’.” 

“ Ah — your  dress-maker;  just  so,”  he  said  blandly.  “I 
did  n’t  know  there  were  any  dress-makei's  in  the  B^e- 
dick.” 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“The  Benedick?”  She  looked  gently  puzzled.  “Is  that 
the  name  of  this  building?” 

“Yes,  that’s  the  name:  I believe  it’s  an  old  word  for 
bachelor,  is  n’t  it?  I happen  to  ovm  the  building — that ’s 
the  way  I know.”  His  smile  deepened  as  he  added  with 
increasing  assurance:  “But  you  must  let  me  take  you  to 
the  station.  The  Trenors  are  at  Bellomont,  of  course? 
You’ve  barely  time  to  catch  the  five-forty.  The  dress- 
maker kept  you  waiting,  I suppose.” 

Lily  stiffened  under  the  pleasantry. 

“Oh,  thanks,”  she  stammered;  and  at  that  moment 
her  eye  caught  a hansom  drifting  down  Madison  Avenue, 
and  she  hailed  it  with  a desperate  gesture. 

“You  ’re  very  kind;  but  I could  n’t  think  of  troubling 
you,”  she  said,  extending  her  hand  to  Mr.  Rosedale ; and 
heedless  of  his  protestations,  she  sprang  into  the  rescuing 
vehicle,  and  called  out  a breatliless  order  to  the  driver. 


II 

IN  the  hansom  she  leaned  back  with  a sigh. 

Wliy  must  a girl  pay  so  dearly  for  her  least  escape 
from  routine?  Why  could  one  never  do  a natural  thing 
without  having  to  screen  it  behind  a structure  of  arti- 
fice? She  had  yielded  to  a passing  impulse  in  going  to 
Lawi’ence  Selden’s  rooms,  and  it  was  so  seldom  that  she 
could  allow  herself  the  luxury  of  an  impulse ! This  one,  at 
[ 22  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


any  rate,  was  going  to  cost  her  rather  more  than  she  could 
afford.  She  was  vexed  to  see  that,  in  spite  of  so  many 
years  of  vigilance,  she  had  blundered  twice  within  five 
minutes.  That  stupid  story  about  her  dress-maker  was 
bad  enough — it  would  have  been  so  simple  to  tell  Rose- 
dale  that  she  had  been  taking  tea  with  Selden ! The  mere 
statement  of  the  fact  would  have  rendered  it  innocuous. 
But,  after  having  let  herself  be  surprised  in  a falsehood, 
it  was  doubly  stupid  to  snub  the  witness  of  her  discom- 
fiture. If  she  had  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  let  Rose- 
dale  drive  her  to  the  station,  the  concession  might  have 
purchased  his  silence.  He  had  his  race’s  accuracy  in  the 
appraisal  of  values,  and  to  be  seen  walking  down  the 
platform  .at-the  crowdedLafterngon  hour  in  ^e  company 
of  Mjss  Lily  ^rt  would  have  been  money  in  his  pocket, 
as  he  might  himself  have  phrased  it.  He  knew,  of  course, 
that  there  would  be  a large  house-party  at  Bellomont, 
and  the  possibility  of  being  taken  for  one  of  Mrs.  Tre- 
noFs  guests  was  doubtless  included  in  his  calculations. 
Mr.  Rosedale  was  still  at  a stage  in  his  social  ascent  when 
it  was  of  importance  to  produce  such  impressions. 

The  provoking  part  was  that  Lily  knew  all  this — 
knew  how  easy  it  would  have  been  to  silence  him  on  the 
spot,  and  how  difficult  it  might  be  to  do  so  afterward. 
Mr.  Simon  Rosedale  was  a man  who  made  it  his  busi- 
ness to  know  everything  about  every  one,  whose  idea  of 
tiowing  himself  to  be  at  home  in  society  was  to  display 
[ 23  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH' 


an  inconvenient  familiarity  with  the  habits  of  those  with 
whom  he  wished  to  be  thought  intimate.  Lily  was  sure 
that  within  twenty-four  hours  the  story  of  her  Usiting 
her  dress-maker  at  the  Benedick  would  be  in  active  cir- 
culation among  Mr.  Rosedale’s  acquaintances.  The  worst 
of  it  was  that  she  had  always  snubbed  and  ignored  him. 
On  his  first  appearance — when  her  improUdent  cousin, 
Jack  Stepney,  had  obtained  for  him  (in  return  for  fa- 
vours too  easily  guessed)  a card  to  one  of  the  vast  im- 
personal Van  Osburgh  “crushes” — Rosedale,  with  that 
mixture  of  artistic  sensibility  and  business  astuteness 
which  characterizes  his  race,  had  instantly  gravitated 
toward  Miss  Bart.  She  understood  his  motives,  for  her 
own  course  was  guided  by  as  nice  calculations.  Train- 
ing and  experience  had  taught  her  to  be  hospitable  to 
newcomers,  since  the  most  unpromising  might  be  useful 
later  on,  and  there  were  plenty  of  available  oubliettes  to 
swallow  them  if  they  were  not.  But  some  intuitive  re- 
pugnance, getting  the  better  of  years  of  social  discipline, 
had  made  her  push  Mr.  Rosedale  into  his  oubliette  with- 
out a trial.  He  had  left  behind  only  the  ripple  of  amuse- 
ment which  his  speedy  despatch  had  caused  among  her 
friends ; and  though  later  (to  sliift  the  metaphor)  he  re- 
appeared lower  down  the  stream,  it  was  only  in  fleeting 
glimpses,  with  long  submergences  between. 

Hitherto  Lily  had  been  undisturbed  by  scruples.  In 
her  little  set  IMr.  Rosedale  had  been  pronounced  “im- 
[ 24  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


possible,”  and  Jack  Stepney  roundly  snubbed  for  his 
attempt  to  pay  his  debts  in  dinner  invitations.  Even 
Mrs.  Trenor,  whose  taste  for  variety  had  led  her  into 
some  hazardous  experiments,  resisted  Jack’s  attempts  to 
disguise  Mr.  Rosedale  as  a novelty,  and  declared  that 
he  was  the  same  little  Jew  who  had  been  served  up  and 
rejected  at  the  social  board  a dozen  times  within  her 
memory ; and  while  Judy  Trenor  was  obdurate  there  was 
small  chance  of  Mr.  Rosedale’s  penetrating  beyond  the 
outer  limbo  of  the  Van  Osburgh  crushes.  Jack  gave  up 
the  contest  with  a laughing  “You’ll  see,”  and,  sticking 
manfully  to  his  guns,  showed  himself  with  Rosedale  at 
the  fashionable  restaurants,  in  company  with  the  per- 
sonally vivid  if  socially  obscure  ladies  who  are  available 
for  such  purposes.  But  the  attempt  had  hitherto  been 
vain,  and  as  Rosedale  undoubtedly  paid  for  the  dinners, 
the  laugh  remained  with  his  debtor. 

Mr.  Rosedale,  it  will  be  seen,  was  thus  far  not  a factor 
to  be  feared — unless  one  put  one’s  self  in  his  power.  And 
this  was  precisely  what  Miss  Bart  had  done.  Her  clumsy 
fib  had  let  him  see  that  she  had  something  to  conceal; 
and  she  was  sure  he  had  a score  to  settle  with  her.  Some- 
thing in  his  smile  told  her  he  had  not  forgotten.  She 
turned  from  the  thought  with  a little  shiver,  but  it  hung 
on  her  all  the  way  to  the  station,  and  dogged  her  down 
the  platform  with  the  persistency  of  Mr.  Rosedale  himself. 

She  had  just  time  to  take  her  seat  before  the  train 

[ 85  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


started;  but  having  aiTanged  herself  in  her  comer  with 
the  instinctive  feeling  for  effect  which  never  forsook  her, 
she  glanced  about  in  the  hope  of  seeing  some  other 
member  of  the  Trenors’  party.  She  wanted  to  get  away 
from  herself,  and  conversation  was  the  only  means  of  es- 
cape that  she  knew. 

Her  search  was  rewarded  by  the  discovery  of  a very 
blond  young  man  with  a soft  reddish  beard,  who,  at  the 
other  end  of  the  carriage,  appeared  to  be  dissembling 
himself  behind  an  unfolded  newspaper.  Lily’s  eye  bright- 
ened, and  a faint  smile  relaxed  the  drawn  lines  of  her 
mouth.  She  had  knovui  that  Mr.  Percy  Gryce  was  to  be 
at  Bellomont,  but  she  had  not  counted  on  the  luck  of 
having  him  to  herself  in  the  train ; and  the  fact  banished 
all  perturbing  thoughts  of  Mr.  Rosedale.  Perhaps,  after 
all,  the  day  was  to  end  more  favourably  than  it  had 
begun. 

She  began  to  cut  the  pages  of  a novel,  tranquilly 
studying  her  prey  through  downcast  lashes  while  she 
organized  a method  of  attack.  Something  in  his  attitude 
of  conscious  absorption  told  her  that  he  was  aware  of 
her  presence:  no  one  had  ever  been  quite  so  engrossed 
in  an  evening  paper!  She  guessed  that  he  was  too  shy 
to  come  up  to  her,  and  that  she  would  have  to  devise 
some  means  of  approach  which  should  not  appear  to  be 
an  advance  on  her  part.  It  amused  her  to  think  that 
any  one  as  rich  as  Mr.  Percy  Gryce  should  be  shy;  but 
[ 26  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


she  was  gifted  with  treasures  of  indulgence  for  such  idio« 
syncrasies,  and  besides,  his  timidity  might  serve  her  pur- 
pose better  than  too  much  assurance.  She  had  the  art  of 
giving  self-confidence  to  the  embarrassed,  but  she  was 
not  equally  sure  of  being  able  to  embarrass  the  self- 
confident. 

She  waited  till  the  train  had  emerged  from  the  tunnel 
and  was  racing  between  the  ragged  edges  of  the  northern 
suburbs.  Then,  as  it  lowered  its  speed  near  Yonkers,  she 
rose  from  her  seat  and  drifted  slowly  down  the  caiTiage. 
As  she  passed  Mr.  Gryce,  the  train  gave  a lurch,  and  he 
was  aware  of  a slender  hand  gripping  the  back  of  his 
chair.  He  rose  with  a start,  his  ingenuous  face  looking 
as  though  it  had  been  dipped  in  crimson;  even  the  red- 
dish tint  in  his  beard  seemed  to  deepen. 

The  train  swayed  again,  almost  flinging  Miss  Bart 
into  his  arms.  She  steadied  herself  with  a laugh  and 
drew  back;  but  he  was  enveloped  in  the  scent  of  her 
dress,  and  his  shoulder  had  felt  her  fugitive  touch. 

“Oh,  Mr.  Gryce,  is  it  you?  I ’m  so  sorry — I was  trying 
to  find  the  porter  and  get  some  tea.” 

She  held  out  her  hand  as  the  train  resumed  its  level 
rush,  and  they  stood  exchanging  a few  words  in  the 
aisle.  Yes — he  was  going  to  Bellomont.  He  had  heard 
she  was  to  be  of  the  party — he  blushed  again  as  he  ad- 
mitted it.  And  was  he  to  be  there  ror  a whole  week? 
How  delightful! 


[ « 1, 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


But  at  this  point  one  or  two  belated  passengers  from 
the  last  station  forced  their  way  into  the  carriage,  and 
Lily  had  to  retreat  to  her  seat. 

“ITie  chair  next  to  mine  is  empty — do  take  it,”  she 
said  over  her  shoulder;  and  Mr.  Gryce,  with  considerable 
embarrassment,  succeeded  in  effecting  an  exchange  which 
enabled  him  to  transport  himself  and  his  bags  to  her 
side. 

“ Ab — and  here  is  the  porter,  and  perhaps  we  can  have 
some  tea.” 

She  signalled  to  that  official,  and  in  a moment,  Avith 
the  ease  that  seemed  to  attend  the  fulfilment  of  all  her 
vishes,  a little  table  had  been  set  up  between  the  seats, 
and  she  had  helped  Mr.  Gryce  to  bestow  his  encumber- 
ing properties  beneath  it. 

Mlien  the  tea  came  he  watched  her  in  silent  fascina- 
tion while  her  hands  flitted  above  the  tray,  looking  mi- 
raculously fine  and  slender  in  contrast  to  the  coarse  china 
and  lumpy  bread.  It  seemed  wonderful  to  him  that  any 
one  should  perform  with  such  careless  ease  the  difficult 
task  of  making  tea  in  public  in  a lurching  train.  He 
would  never  have  dared  to  order  it  for  himself,  lest  he 
should  attract  the  notice  of  his  fellow-passengers;  but, 
secure  in  the  shelter  of  her  conspicuousness,  he  sipped 
the  inky  draught  with  a delicious  sense  of  exhilaration. 

Lily,  with  the  flavour  of  Selden’s  caravan  tea  on  hei 
lips,  had  no  great  fancy  to  drown  it  in  the  railway  brew 
[ 28  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


which  seemed  such  nectar  to  her  companion ; but,  rightly 
judging  that  one  of  the  charms  of  tea  is  the  fact  of 
drinking  it  together,  she  proceeded  to  give  the  last  touch 
to  Mr.  Gryce’s  enjoyment  by  smiling  at  him  across  her 
lifted  cup. 

“Is  't  quite  right — I haven’t  made  it  too  strong.?” 
she  asked  solicitously;  and  he  replied  with  conviction 
that  he  had  never  tasted  better  tea. 

“I  daresay  it  is  true,”  she  reflected;  and  her  imagina- 
tion was  fired  by  the  thought  that  Mr.  Gryce,  who  might 
have  sounded  the  depths  of  the  most  complex  self-indul- 
gence, was  perhaps  actually  taking  his  first  journey  alone 
with  a pretty  woman. 

It  struck  her  as  providential  that  she  should  be  the 
instnrment  of  his  initiation.  Some  girls  would  not  have 
known  how  to  manage  him.  They  would  have  over-empha- 
sized the  novelty  of  the  adventure,  trying  to  make  him  feel 
in  it  the  zest  of  an  escapade.  But  Lily’s  methods  w ere  more 
delicate.  She  remembered  that  her  cousin  Jack  Stepney 
had  once  defined  Mr.  Gryce  as  the  young  man  wLo  had 
promised  his  mother  never  to  go  out  in  the  rain  without 
his  overshoes ; and  acting  on  this  hint,  she  resolved  to  im- 
part a gently  domestic  air  to  the  scene,  in  the  hope  that 
her  companion,  instead  of  feeling  that  he  was  doing  some- 
thing reckless  or  unusual,  would  merely  be  led  to  dwell 
on  the  advantage  of  always  having  a companion  to  make 
one’s  tea  in  the  train. 


[ 29  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Rut  in  spite  of  her  efforts,  conversation  flagged  after 
the  tray  had  been  removed,  and  she  was  driven  to  take 
a fresh  measurement  of  Mr.  Gryce’s  limitations.  It  was 
not,  after  all,  opportunity  but  imagination  that  he 
lacked : he  had  a mental  palate  which  would  never  learn 
to  distinguish  between  railway  tea  and  nectar.  There 
was,  however,  one  topic  she  could  rely  on:  one  spring 
that  she  had  only  to  touch  to  set  his  simple  machinery 
in  motion.  She  had  refrained  from  touching  it  because 
it  was  a last  resom’ce,  and  she  had  relied  on  other  arts 
to  stimulate  other  sensations;  but  as  a settled  look  of 
dulness  began  to  creep  over  his  candid  features,  she  saw 
that  extreme  measures  were  necessary. 

“And  how,”  she  said,  leaning  forv^ard,  “are  you  get- 
ting on  with  your  Americana. J”’ 

His  eye  became  a degree  less  opaque : it  was  as  though 
an  incipient  film  had  been  removed  from  it,  and  she  felt 
the  pride  of  a skilful  operator. 

“I’ve  got  a few  new  things,”  he  said,  suffused  with 
pleasure,  but  lowering  his  voice  as  though  he  feared  his 
fellow-passengers  might  be  in  league  to  despoil  him. 

She  retiu’ned  a sympathetic  enquiry,  and  gradually  he 
was  di'awn  on  to  talk  of  his  latest  purchases.  It  was  the 
one  subject  which  enabled  him  to  forget  himself,  or  al- 
low'ed  him,  rather,  to  remember  himself  without  con- 
straint, because  he  was  at  home  in  it,  and  could  assert  a su- 
periority that  there  were  few  to  dispute.  Hardly  any  of 
[ 30  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


his  acquaintances  cared  for  Americana,  or  knew  anything 
about  them;  and  the  consciousness  of  this  ignorance 
threw  Mr.  Gryce’s  knowledge  into  agreeable  relief.  The 
only  difficulty  was  to  introduce  the  topic  and  to  keep  it 
to  the  front;  most  people  showed  no  desire  to  have  their 
ignorance  dispelled,  and  Mr.  Gryce  was  like  a merchant 
whose  warehouses  are  crammed  with  an  unmarketable 
commodity. 

But  Miss  Bart,  it  appeared,  really  did  want  to  know 
about  Americana;  and  moreover,  she  was  already  suffi- 
ciently informed  to  make  the  task  of  farther  instruction 
as  easy  as  it  was  agreeable.  She  questioned  him  intel- 
ligently, she  heard  him  submissively;  and,  prepared  for 
the  look  of  lassitude  which  usually  crept  over  his  listen- 
ers’ faces,  he  grew  eloquent  rmder  her  receptive  gaze. 
The  “points”  she  had  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  glean 
from  Selden,in  anticipation  of  this  very  contingency,  were 
serving  her  to  such  good  purpose  that  she  began  to  think 
her  visit  to  him  had  been  the  luckiest  incident  of  the  day. 
She  had  once  more  shown  her  talent  for  profiting  by  the 
unexpected,  and  dangerous  theories  as  to  the  advisability 
of  yielding  to  impulse  were  germinating  under  the  sur- 
face of  smiling  attention  which  she  continued  to  present 
to  her  companion. 

Mr.  Gryce’s  sensations,  if  less  definite,  were  equally 
agreeable.  He  felt  the  confused  titillation  with  which 
the  lower  organisms  welcome  the  gratification  of  their 

[ 31  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


needs,  and  all  his  senses  floundered  in  a vague  well-be* 
ing,  through  which  Miss  Bart’s  personality  w£ls  dimly 
hut  pleasantly  perceptible. 

Mr.  Gryce’s  interest  in  Americana  had  not  oiiginated 
with  himself : it  was  impossible  to  think  of  him  as  evolv- 
ing any  taste  of  his  own.  An  uncle  had  left  him  a col- 
lection already  noted  among  bibliophiles;  the  existence 
of  the  collection  was  the  only  fact  that  had  ever  shed 
glory  on  the  name  of  Gryce,  and  the  nephew  took  as 
much  pride  in  his  inheritance  as  though  it  had  been 
his  own  work.  Indeed,  he  gradually  came  to  regard  it  as 
such,  and  to  feel  a sense  of  personal  complacency  when 
he  chanced  on  any  reference  to  the  Gryce  Americana. 
Anxious  as  he  was  to  avoid  personal  notice,  he  took,  in 
the  printed  mention  of  his  name,  a pleasure  so  exqui- 
site and  excessive  that  it  seemed  a compensation  for  his 
shrinking  from  publicity. 

To  enjoy  the  sensation  as  often  as  possible,  he  sub- 
scribed to  all  the  reviews  dealing;  with  book-coUectingr 
in  general,  and  American  history  in  particular,  and  as 
allusions  to  his  library  abounded  in  the  pages  of  these 
journals,  which  formed  his  only  reading,  he  came  to  n - 
gard  liimself  as  figuring  prominently  in  the  pubhc  eye, 
and  to  enjoy  the  thought  of  the  interest  which  would  be 
excited  if  the  persons  he  met  in  the  street,  or  sat  among 
in  travelling,  were  suddenly  to  be  told  that  he  was  the 
possessor  of  the  Gryce  Americana. 

[ 32  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

Most  timidities  have  such  secret  compensations,  and 
Miss  Bart  was  discerning  enough  to  know  that  the  inner 
vanity  is  generally  in  proportion  to  the  outer  self-depre- 
ciation. With  a more  confident  person  she  would  not 
have  dared  to  dwell  so  long  on  one  topic,  or  to  show 
such  exaggerated  interest  in  it;  but  she  had  rightly 
guessed  that  Mr.  Gryce’s  egoism  was  a thirsty  soil,  re- 
quiring constant  nurture  from  without.  Miss  Bart  had 
the  gift  of  following  an  undercurrent  of  thought  while 
she  appeared  to  be  sailing  on  the  surface  of  conversa- 
tion: and  in  this  case  her  mental  excursion  took  the 
form  of  a rapid  survey  of  Mr.  Percy  Gryce’s  future  as 
combined  with  her  own.  The  Gryces  were  from  Albany, 
and  but  lately  introduced  to  the  metropolis,  where  the 
mother  and  son  had  come,  after  old  Jefferson  Gryce’s 
death,  to  take  possession  of  his  house  in  Madison  Avenue 
■ — an  appalling  house,  all  brown  stone  without  and  black 
walnut  within,  with  the  Gryce  library  in  a fire-proof 
annex  that  looked  like  a mausoleum.  Lily,  however,  knew 
all  about  them:  young  Mr.  Gryce’s  arrival  had  flut- 
tered the  maternal  breasts  of  New  York,  and  when  a 
girl  has  no  mother  to  palpitate  for  her  she  must  needs 
be  on  the  alert  for  herself.  Lily,  therefore,  had  not  only 
contrived  to  put  herself  in  the  young  man’s  way,  but 
had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Gryce,  a monumental 
woman  with  the  voice  of  a pulpit  orator  and  a mind 
preoccupied  with  the  iniquities  of  her  servants,  who 
[ S3  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

came  sometimes  to  sit  with  Mrs.  Peniston  and  leam  from 
that  lady  how  she  managed  to  prevent  the  kitchen-maid’s 
smuggling  groceries  out  of  the  house.  Mrs.  Gryce  had  a 
kind  of  impersonal  benevolence:  cases  of  individual  need 
she  regarded  with  suspicion,  but  she  subscribed  to  Insti- 
tutions when  their  annual  reports  showed  an  impressive 
surplus.  Her  domestic  duties  were  manifold,  for  they  ex- 
tended from  furtive  inspections  of  the  servants’  bedrooms 
to  unannounced  descents  to  the  cellar;  but  she  had  never 
allowed  herself  many  pleasures.  Once,  however,  she  had 
had  a special  edition  of  the  Sarum  Rule  printed  in  rubric 
and  presented  to  every  clergyman  in  the  diocese;  and  the 
gilt  album  in  which  their  letters  of  thanks  were  pasted 
formed  the  chief  ornament  of  her  drawing-room  table. 

Percy  had  been  brought  up  in  the  principles  which  so 
excellent  a woman  was  sure  to  inculcate.  Every  form  of 
prudence  and  suspicion  had  been  grafted  on  a nature 
originally  reluctant  and  cautious,  with  the  result  that 
it  would  have  seemed  hardly  needful  for  IVIrs.  Giyce  to 
extract  his  promise  about  the  overshoes,  so  little  likely 
was  he  to  hazard  himself  abroad  in  the  rain.  After  at- 
taining his  majority,  and  coming  into  the  fortune  which 
the  late  Mr.  Gryce  had  made  out  of  a patent  device  for 
excluding  fresh  air  from  hotels,  the  young  man  continued 
to  live  with  his  mother  in  Albany;  but  on  Jefferson 
Gryce’s  death,  when  another  large  property  passed  into 
her  son’s  hands,  Mrs.  Gryce  thought  that  what  she  called 
S 34  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


his  “interests”  demanded  his  presence  in  New  York.  She 
accordingly  installed  herself  in  the  Madison  Avenue 
house,  and  Percy,  whose  sense  of  duty  was  not  inferior 
to  his  mother’s,  spent  all  his  week  days  in  the  handsome 
Broad  Street  office  where  a batch  of  pale  men  on  small 
salaries  had  grown  grey  in  the  management  of  the  Gryce 
estate,  and  where  he  was  initiated  with  becoming  rever- 
ence into  every  detail  of  the  art  of  accumulation. 

As  far  as  Lily  could  learn,  this  had  hitherto  been 
Mr.  Gryce’s  only  occupation,  and  she  might  have  been 
pardoned  for  thinking  it  not  too  hard  a task  to  interest 
a young  man  who  had  been  kept  on  such  low  diet.  At 
any  rate,  she  felt  herself  so  completely  in  command  of 
the  situation  that  she  yielded  to  a sense  of  security  in 
which  all  fear  of  Mr.  Rosedale,  and  of  the  difficulties  on 
which  that  fear  was  contingent,  vanished  beyond  the 
edge  of  thought. 

The  stopping  of  the  train  at  Garrisons  would  not  have 
distracted  her  from  these  thoughts,  had  she  not  caught 
a sudden  look  of  distress  in  her  companion’s  eye.  His 
seat  faced  toward  the  door,  and  she  guessed  that  he  had 
been  perturbed  by  the  approach  of  an  acquaintance;  a 
fact  confirmed  by  the  turning  of  heads  and  general  sense 
of  commotion  which  her  own  entrance  into  a railway- 
carriage  was  apt  to  produce. 

She  knew  the  symptoms  at  once,  and  was  not  surprised 
to  be  hailed  by  the  high  notes  of  a pretty  woman,  who 

C35  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


entered  the  train  accompanied  by  a maid,  a bull-terrier, 
and  a footman  staggering  under  a load  of  bags  and 
dressing-cases. 

“Oh,  Lily — are  you  going  to  BeUomont.''  Then  you 
can’t  let  me  have  your  seat,  I suppose.?  But  I must  have 
a seat  in  this  caniage — porter,  you  must  find  me  a place 
at  once.  Can’t  some  one  be  put  somewhere  else.?  I want 
to  be  with  my  friends.  Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Gryce? 
Do  please  make  him  understand  that  I must  have  a seat 
next  to  you  and  Lily.” 

Mrs.  George  Dorset,  regardless  of  the  mild  efforts  of 
a traveller  with  a carpet-bag,  who  wa.  doing  his  best  to 
make  room  for  her  by  getting  out  of  the  train,  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  aisle,  diffusing  about  her  that  general 
sense  of  exasperation  which  a pretty  woman  on  her  tra- 
vels not  infrequently  creates. 

She  was  smaller  and  thinner  than  Lily  Bart,  with  a 
restless  pliability  of  pose,  as  if  she  could  have  been  crum- 
pled up  and  run  tlu-ough  a ring,  like  the  sinuous  drape- 
ries she  affected.  Her  small  pale  face  seemed  the  mere 
setting  of  a pair  of  dark  exaggerated  eyes,  of  which  the 
visionary  gaze  contrasted  curiously  with  her  self-asser- 
tive tone  and  gestures ; so  that,  as  one  of  her  friends  ob- 
served, she  was  like  a disembodied  spirit  who  took  up  a 
great  deal  of  room. 

Haring  finally  discovered  that  the  seat  adjoining  Miss 
Bart’s  was  at  her  disposal,  she  possessed  herself  of  it  with 

[ 36  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


a farther  displacement  of  her  surroundings,  explaining 
meanwhile  that  she  had  come  across  from  Mount  Kisco 
in  her  motor-car  that  morning,  and  had  been  kicking  her 
heels  for  an  hour  at  Garrisons,  without  even  the  alle- 
viation of  a cigarette,  her  brute  of  a husband  having 
neglected  to  replenish  her  case  before  they  parted  that 
morning. 

“And  at  this  hour  of  the  day  I don’t  suppose  you’ve  a 
single  one  left,  have  you,  Lily  ? ” she  plaintively  concluded. 

Miss  Bart  caught  the  startled-*  glance  of  Mr.  Percy 
Gryce,  whose  own  lips  were  never  defiled  by  tobacco. 

“What  an  absurd  question,  Bertha!”  she  exclaimed, 
blushing  at  the  thought  of  the  store  she  had  laid  in  at 
Lawrence  Selden’s. 

“Why,  don’t  you  smoke.?  Since  when  have  you  given  it 

up?  WTiat — you  never And  you  don’t  either,  Mr. 

Gryce?  Ah,  of  course — how  stupid  of  me — I under- 
stand.” 

And  Mrs.  Dorset  leaned  back  against  her  travelling 
cushions  with  a smile  which  made  Lily  wish  there  had 
been  no  vacant  seat  beside  her  own. 

Ill 

Bridge  at  Bellomont  usually  lasted  till  the  small 
hours;  and  when  Lily  went  to  bed  that  night  she 
had  played  too  long  for  her  own  good. 

[ 87  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Feeling  no  desire  forthe  self-communion  which  awaited 
her  in  her  room,  she  lingered  on  the  broad  stairway,  look- 
ing down  into  the  hall  below,  where  the  last  card-play- 
ers were  grouped  about  the  tray  of  tall  glasses  and  silver- 
collared  decanters  which  the  butler  had  just  placed  on  a 
low  table  near  the  fire. 

The  hall  was  arcaded,  with  a gallery  supported  on 
columns  of  pale  yellow  marble.  Tall  clumps  of  flowering 
plants  were  grouped  against  a background  of  dark  foliage 
in  the  angles  of  the  walls.  On  the  crimson  carpet  a deer- 
hound and  two  or  three  spaniels  dozed  luxuriously  be- 
fore the  fire,  and  the  light  from  the  great  central  lan- 
tern overhead  shed  a brightness  on  the  women’s  hair  and 
struck  sparks  from  their  jewels  as  they  moved. 

There  were  moments  when  such  scenes  delighted  Lily, 
when  they  gratified  her  sense  of  beauty  and  her  craving 
for  the  external  finish  of  life;  there  were  others  when 
they  gave  a sharper  edge  to  the  meagreness  of  her  own 
opportunities.  This  was  one  of  the  moments  when  the 
sense  of  contrast  was  uppermost,  and  she  turned  away 
impatiently  as  Mrs.  George  Dorset,  glittering  in  ser- 
pentine spangles,  drew  Percy  Gryce  in  her  wake  to  a con- 
fidential nook  beneath  the  gallery. 

It  was  not  that  Miss  Bart  was  afraid  of  losing  her 
newly-acquired  hold  over  Mr.  Gryce.  Mi's.  Dorset  might 
startle  or  dazzle  him,  but  she  had  neither  the  skill  nor 
the  patience  to  effect  his  capture.  She  was  too  self-en- 
[ 38  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


grossed  to  penetrate  the  recesses  of  his  shyness,  and  be* 
sides,  why  should  she  care  to  give  herself  the  trouble? 
At  most  it  might  amuse  her  to  make  sport  of  his  sim- 
plicity for  an  evening — after  that  he  would  be  merely  a 
burden  to  her,  and  knowing  this,  she  was  far  too  expe- 
rienced to  encourage  him.  But  the  mere  thought  of  that 
other  woman,  who  could  take  a man  up  and  toss  him 
aside  as  she  willed,  without  having  to  regard  him  as  a 
possible  factor  in  her  plans,  filled  Lily  Bart  with  envy. 
She  had  been  bored  all  the  afternoon  by  Percy  Gryce — 
the  mere  thought  seemed  to  waken  an  echo  of  his  dron- 
ing voice — but  she  could  not  ignore  him  on  the  morrow, 
she  must  follow  up  her  success,  must  submit  to  more  bore- 
dom, must  be  ready  with  fresh  compliances  and  adaptabil- 
ities, and  all  on  the  bare  chance  that  he  might  ultimately 
decidejto  do  her  the  honour  of  boring  her  for  life. 

It  was  a hateful  fate — but  how  escape  from  it?  What 
choice  had  she?  To  be  herself,  or  a Gerty  Parish.  As  she 
entered  her  bedroom,  with  its  softly-shaded  lights,  her 
lace  dressing-gown  lying  across  the  silken  bedspread,  her 
little  embroidered  slippers  before  the  fire,  a vase  of  car- 
nations filling  the  air  with  perfume,  and  the  last  novels 
and  magazines  lying  uncut  on  a table  beside  the  reading- 
lamp,  she  had  a vision  of  Miss  Parish’s  cramped  flat,  with 
its  cheap  conveniences  and  hideous  wall-papers.  No;  she 
was  not  made  for  mean  and  shabby  surroundings,  for  the 
squalid  compromises  of  poverty.  Her  whole  being  dilated 

[39] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


in  an  atmosphere  of  luxury;  it  was  the  background  she 
required,  the  only  climate  she  could  breathe  in.  But  the 
luxury  of  others  was  not  what  she  wanted.  A few  years 
ago  it  had  sufficed  her:  she  had  taken  her  daily  meed  of 
pleasure  without  caring  who  provided  it.  Now  she  was 
beginning  to  chafe  at  the  obligations  it  imposed,  to  feel 
herself  a mere  pensioner  on  the  splendour  which  had  oncf 
seemed  to  belong  to  her.  There  were  even  moments  when 
she  was  conscious  of  having  to  pay  her  way. 

For  a long  time  she  had  refused  to  play  bridge.  She 
knew  she  could  not  afford  it,  and  she  was  afraid  of  ac- 
quiring so  expensive  a taste.  She  had  seen  the  danger 
exemplified  in  more  than  one  of  her  associates — in  young 
Ned  Silverton,  for  instance,  the  charming  fair  boy  now 
seated  in  abject  rapture  at  the  elbow  of  ^Irs.  Fisher,  a 
striking  divorcee  with  eyes  and  gowns  as  emphatic  as  the 
head-lines  of  her  “case.”  Lily  could  remember  when  young 
Silverton  had  stumbled  into  their  circle,  with  the  air  of 
a strayed  Arcadian  who  has  published  charming  son- 
nets in  his  college  journal.  Since  then  he  had  developed 
a taste  for  Mrs.  Fisher  and  bridge,  and  the  latter  at 
least  had  involved  him  in  expenses  from  which  he  had 
been  more  than  once  rescued  by  harassed  maiden  sisters, 
who  treasured  the  sonnets,  and  went  without  sugar  in 
their  tea  to  keep  their  darling  afloat.  Ned’s  case  was 
familiar  to  Lily:  she  had  seen  his  charming  eyes — which 
had  a good  deal  more  poetry  in  them  than  the  sonnets 

r « ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


-^change  from  surprise  to  amusement,  and  from  amuse^ 
ment  to  anxiety,  as  he  passed  under  the  spell  of  the 
terrible  god  of  chance;  and  she  was  afraid  of  discovering 
the  same  symptoms  in  her  own  case. 

For  in  the  last  year  she  had  found  that  her  hostesses 
expected  her  to  take  a place  at  the  card-table.  It  was 
one  of  the  taxes  she  had  to  pay  for  their  prolonged  hos- 
pitality, and  for  the  dresses  and  trinkets  which  occasion- 
ally replenished  her  insufficient  wardrobe.  And  since  she 
had  played  regularly  the  passion  had  grown  on  her.  Once 
or  twice  of  late  she  had  won  a large  sum,  and  instead  of 
keeping  it  against  future  losses,  had  spent  it  in  dress  or 
jewelry;  and  the  desire  to  atone  for  this  imprudence, 
combined  with  the  increasing  exhilaration  of  the  game, 
drove  her  to  risk  higher  stakes  at  each  fresh  venture. 
She  tried  to  excuse  herself  on  the  plea  that,  in  the  Trenor 
set,  if  one  played  at  all  one  must  either  play  high  or  be 
set  down  as  priggish  or  stingy;  but  she  knew  that  the 
gambling  passion  was  upon  her,  and  that  in  her  present 
surroundings  there  was  small  hope  of  resisting  it. 

Tonight  the  luck  had  been  persistently  bad,  and  the 
little  gold  purse  which  hung  among  her  trinkets  was 
almost  empty  when  she  returned  to  her  room.  She  un- 
locked the  wardrobe,  and  taking  out  her  jewel-case,  looked 
under  the  tray  for  the  roll  of  bills  from  which  she  had 
?;eplenished  the  purse  before  going  down  to  dinner.  Only 
twenty  dollars  were  left:  the  discovery  was  so  startling 
[ 41  ] 


1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

that  for  a moment  she  fancied  she  must  have  been  robbed. 
Then  she  took  paper  and  pencil,  and  seating  herself  at 
the  writing-table,  tried  to  reckon  up  what  she  had  spent 
during  the  day.  Her  head  was  throbbing  with  fatigue, 
and  she  had  to  go  over  the  figures  again  and  again;  but 
at  last  it  became  clear  to  her  that  she  had  lost  three 
hundred  dollars  at  cards.  She  took  out  her  cheque-book 
to  see  if  her  balance  was  larger  than  she  remembered, 
but  found  she  had  erred  in  the  other  direction.  Then  she 
returned  to  her  calculations;  but  figure  as  she  would,  she 
could  not  conjure  back  the  vanished  three  hundred  dol- 
lars. It  was  the  sum  she  had  set  aside  to  pacify  her  dress- 
maker— unless  she  should  decide  to  use  it  as  a sop  to 
the  jeweller.  At  any  rate,  she  had  so  many  uses  for  it 
that  its  very  insufficiency  had  caused  her  to  play  high  in 
the  hope  of  doubling  it.  But  of  course  she  had  lost — 
she  who  needed  every  penny,  while  Bertha  Dorset,  whose 
husband  showered  money  on  her,  must  have  pocketed  at 
least  five  hundred,  and  Judy  Trenor,  who  could  have 
afforded  to  lose  a thousand  a night,  had  left  the  table 
clutching  such  a heap  of  bills  that  she  had  been  unable 
to  shake  hands  with  her  guests  when  they  bade  her  good 
night. 

A world  in  which  such  things  could  be  seemed  a miser- 
able place  to  Lily  Bart;  but  then  she  had  never  been 
able  to  understand  the  laws  of  a universe  which  was  so 
. ready  to  leave  her  out  of  its  calculations. 

[ 42  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


She  began  to  undress  without  ringing  for  her  maid, 
whom  she  had  sent  to  bed.  She  had  been  long  enough 
in  bondage  to  other  people’s  pleasure  to  be  considerate 
of  those  who  depended  on  hers,  and  in  her  bitter  moods 
it  sometimes  struck  her  that  she  and  her  maid  were  in 
the  same  position,  except  that  the  latter  received  her 
wages  more  regularly. 

As  she  sat  before  the  mirror  brushing  her  hair,  her 
face  looked  hollow  and  pale,  and  she  was  frightened  by 
two  little  lines  near  her  mouth,  faint  flaws  in  the  smooth 
curve  of  the  cheek. 

“Oh,  I must  stop  worrying!”  she  exclaimed.  “Unless 

it’s  the  electric  light ” she  reflected,  springing  up 

from  her  seat  and  lighting  the  candles  on  the  dressing- 
table. 

She  turned  out  the  wall-lights,  and  peered  at  herself 
between  the  candle-flames.  The  white  oval  of  her  face 
swam  out  waveringly  from  a background  of  shadows, 
the  uncertain  light  blurring  it  like  a haze;  but  the  two 
lines  about  the  mouth  remained. 

Lily  rose  and  undressed  in  haste. 

“It  is  only  because  I am  tired  and  have  such  odious 
things  to  think  about,”  she  kept  repeating ; and  it  seemed 
an  added  injustice  that  petty  cares  should  leave  a trace 
on  the  beauty  which  was  her  only  defence  against  them. 

But  the  odious  things  were  there,  and  remained  with 
her.  She  returned  wearily  to  the  thought  of  Percy  Gryce, 

[ 43  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


as  a wayfarer  picks  up  a heavy  load  and  toils  on  after  a 
brief  rest.  She  was  almost  sure  she  had  “landed”  him:  a 
few  days’  work  and  she  would  win  her  reward.  But  the 
reward  itself  seemed  unpalatable  just  then:  she  could  get 
no  zest  from  the  thought  of  victory.  It  would  be  a rest 
from  worry,  no  more — and  how  little  that  would  have 
seemed  to  her  a few  years  earlier!  Her  ambitions  had 
shrunk  gradually  in  the  desiccating  air  of  failure.  But 
why  had  she  failed.^  Was  it  her  own  fault  or  that  of 
destiny  ? 

She  remembered  how  her  mother,  after  they  had  lost 
their  money,  used  to  say  to  her  with  a kind  of  fierce 
vindictiveness:  “But  you’ll  get  it  all  back — you’ll  get 
it  all  back,  with  your  face.”  . . . The  remembrance  roused 
a whole  train  of  association,  and  she  lay  in  the  darkness 
reconstructing  the  past  out  of  which  her  present  had 
grown. 

A house  in  Avhich  no  one  ever  dined  at  home  unless 
there  was  “company”;  a door-bell  perpetually  ringing; 
a hall-table  showered  with  square  envelopes  which  were 
opened  in  haste,  and  oblong  envelopes  which  were  allowed 
to  gather  dust  in  the  depths  of  a bronze  jar;  a series  of 
French  and  English  maids  giving  warning  amid  a chaos 
of  hurriedly-ransacked  wardrobes  and  dress-closets;  an 
equally  changing  djmasty  of  nurses  and  footmen ; quarrels 
in  the  pantry,  the  kitchen  and  the  drawing-room;  pre- 
cipitate trips  to  Europe,  and  returns  with  gorged  trunks 
[ 44  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  days  of  interminable  unpacking;  semi-annual  dis- 
cussions as  to  where  the  summer  should  be  spent,  grey 
interludes  of  economy  and  brilliant  reactions  of  expense 
— such  was  the  setting  of  Lily  Bart’s  first  memories. 

Ruling  the  turbulent  element  called  home  was  the 
vigorous  and  determined  figure  of  a mother  still  young 
enough  to  dance  her  ball-dresses  to  rags,  while  the  hazy 
outline  of  a neutral-tinted  father  filled  an  intermediate 
space  between  the  butler  and  the  man  who  came  to  wind 
the  clocks.  Even  to  the  eyes  of  infancy,  Mrs.  Hudson 
Bart  had  appeared  young;  but  Lily  could  not  recall  the 
time  when  her  father  had  not  been  bald  and  slightly 
stooping,  with  streaks  of  grey  in  his  hair,  and  a tired 
walk.  It  was  a shock  to  her  to  learn  afterward  that  he 
was  but  two  years  older  than  her  mother. 

Lily  seldom  saw  her  father  by  daylight.  All  day  he 
was  “down  town”;  and  in  winter  it  was  long  after 
nightfall  when  she  heard  his  fagged  step  on  the  staim 
and  his  hand  on  the  school-room  door.  He  would  kiss 
her  in  silence,  and  ask  one  or  two  questions  of  the  nurse 
or  the  governess;  then  Mrs.  Bart’s  maid  would  come  to 
remind  him  that  he  was  dining  out,  and  he  would  hurry 
away  with  a nod  to  Lily.  In  summer,  when  he  joined 
them  for  a Sunday  at  Newport  or  Southampton,  he  was 
even  more  effaced  and  silent  than  in  winter.  It  seemed 
to  tire  him  to  rest,  and  he  would  sit  for  hours  staring 
at  the  sea-line  from  a quiet  corner  of  the  verandah,  while 
[ 45  ] 

I 

1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

the  clatter  of  his  wife’s  existence  went  on  imheeded  a 
few  feet  off.  Generally,  however,  Mrs.  Bart  and  Lily 
went  to  Europe  for  the  summer,  and  before  the  steamer 
was  half  way  over  Mr.  Bart  had  dipped  below  the  hori- 
zon. Sometimes  his  daughter  heard  him  denounced  for 
having  neglected  to  forward  Mrs.  Bart’s  remittances;  but 
for  the  most  part  he  wa^  never  mentioned  or  thought 
of  till  his  patient  stooping  figure  presented  itself  on  the 
New  York  dock  as  a buffer  between  the  magnitude  of 
his  wife’s  luggage  and  the  restrictions  of  the  American 
custom-house. 

In  this  desultory  yet  agitated  fashion  life  went  on 
through  Lily’s  teens:  a zig-zag  broken  course  down 
which  the  family  craft  glided  on  a rapid  current  of 
amusement,  tugged  at  by  the  underflow  of  a perpetual 
need — the  need  of  more  money.  Lily  could  not  recall 
the  time  when  there  had  been  money  enough,  and  in 
some  vague  way  her  father  seemed  always  to  blame  for 
the  deficiency.  It  could  certainly  not  be  the  fault  of 
Mrs.  Bart,  who  was  spoken  of  by  her  friends  as  a “won- 
derful manager.”  Mrs.  Bart  was  famous  for  the  unlimited 
effect  she  produced  on  limited  means;  and  to  the  lady 
and  her  acquaintances  there  w'as  something  heroic  in  liv- 
ing as  though  one  were  much  richer  than  one’s  bank- 
book denoted. 

Lily  was  naturally  proud  of  her  mother’s  aptitude  in 
this  line:  she  had  been  brought  up  in  the  faith  that, 

[ 46  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


whatever  it  cost,  one  must  have  a good  cook,  and  be  what 
Mrs.  Bart  called  “decently  dressed.”  Mrs.  Bart’s  worst 
reproach  to  her  husband  was  to  ask  him  if  he  expected 
her  to  “live  like  a pig”;  and  his  replying  in  the  negative 
was  always  regarded  as  a justification  for  cabling  to  Paris 
for  an  extra  dress  or  two,  and  telephoning  to  the  jeweller 
that  he  might,  after  all,  send  home  the  turquoise  brace- 
let which  Mrs.  Bart  had  looked  at  that  morning. 

Lily  knew  people  who  “lived  like  pigs,”  and  their  ap- 
pearance and  surroundings  justified  her  mother’s  repug- 
nance to  that  form  of  existence.  They  were  mostly  cousins, 
who  inhabited  dingy  houses  with  engravings  from  Cole’s 
Voyage  of  Life  on  the  drawing-room  walls,  and  slatternly 
parlour-maids  who  said  “I  ’ll  go  and  see”  to  visitors  call- 
ing at  an  hour  when  all  right-minded  persons  are  con- 
ventionally if  not  actually  out.  The  disgusting  part  of  it 
was  that  many  of  these  cousins  were  rich,  so  that  Lily 
imbibed  the  idea  that  if  people  lived  like  pigs  it  was  from 
choice,  and  through  the  lack  of  any  proper  standard  of 
conduct.  This  gave  her  a sense  of  reflected  superiority, 
and  she  did  not  need  Mrs.  Bart’s  comments  on  the  family 
frumps  and  misers  to  foster  her  naturally  lively  taste  for 
splendour. 

Lily  was  nineteen  when  circumstances  caused  her  to 
revise  her  view  of  the  universe. 

The  previous  year  she  had  made  a dazzling  debut 
fringed  by  a heavy  thunder-cloud  of  bills.  The  light  of 
[ 47  J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  debut  still  lingered  on  the  horizon,  but  the  cloud  had 
thickened;  and  suddenly  it  broke.  The  suddenness  added 
to  the  horror;  and  there  were  still  times  when  Lily  re- 
lived with  painful  vividness  every  detail  of  the  day  on 
which  the  blow  fell.  She  and  her  mother  had  been  seated 
at  the  luncheon-table,  over  the  char^roix  and  cold  salmon 
of  the  previous  night’s  dinner:  it  was  one  of  Mrs.  Bart’s 
few  economies  to  consume  in  private  the  expensive  rem- 
nants of  her  hospitality.  Lily  was  feeling  the  pleasant 
languor  which  is  youth’s  penalty  for  dancing  till  dawn; 
but  her  mother,  in  spite  of  a few  lines  about  the  mouth, 
and  under  the  yellow  waves  on  her  temples,  was  as  alert, 
determined  and  high  in  colour  as  if  she  had  risen  from 
an  untroubled  sleep. 

In  the  centre  of  the  table,  between  the  melting  mar- 
rons  glacis  and  candied  cherries,  a pjTamid  of  American 
Beauties  lifted  their  vigorous  stems;  they  held  their  heads 
as  high  as  Mrs.  Bart,  but  their  rose-colour  had  turned 
to  a dissipated  purple,  and  Lily’s  sense  of  fitness  was  dis- 
turbed by  their  reappearance  on  the  luncheon-table. 

“I  really  think,  mother,”  she  said  reproachfully,  “we 
might  afford  a few  fresh  flowers  for  luncheon.  Just  some 
jonquils  or  lilies-of-the-valley ” 

Mrs.  Bart  stared.  Her  own  fastidiousness  had  its  eye 
fixed  on  the  world,  and  she  did  not  care  how  the  luncheon- 
table  looked  when  there  was  no  one  present  at  it  bu\  ‘^he 
family.  But  she  smiled  at  her  daughters  innocence, 
f 48  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Lilies-of-the-valley,”  she  said  calmly,  “cost  two  dol* 
lars  a dozen  at  this  season.” 

Lily  was  not  impressed.  She  knew  very  little  of  the 
value  of  money. 

“It  would  not  take  more  than  six  dozen  to  fill  that 
bowl,”  she  argued. 

“Six  dozen  what.?”  asked  her  father’s  voice  in  the 
doorway. 

The  two  women  looked  up  in  surprise;  though  it  was 
a Saturday,  the  sight  of  Mr.  Bart  at  luncheon  was  an  un- 
wonted one.  But  neither  his  wife  nor  his  daughter  was 
sufficiently  interested  to  ask  an  explanation. 

Mr.  Bart  dropped  into  a chair,  and  sat  gazing  ab- 
sently at  the  fragment  of  jellied  salmon  which  the  butler 
had  placed  before  him. 

“I  was  only  saying,”  Lily  began,  “that  I hate  to  see 
faded  flowers  at  luncheon;  and  mother  says  a bunch  of 
lilies-of-the-valley  would  not  cost  more  than  twelve 
dollars.  Mayn’t  I tell  the  florist  to  send  a few  every 
day.?” 

She  leane-)  tionfldently  toward  her  father:  he  seldom 
refused  her  a!e  hhing,  and  Mrs.  Bart  had  taught  her_to 
plead  with  him  when  her  own  entreaties  failed. 

Mr.  Bart  sat  motionless,  his  gaze  still  fixed  on  the  sal- 
mon, and  his  lower  jaw  dropped;  he  looked  even  paler 
than  usual,  and  his  thin  hair  lay  in  untidy  streaks  on 
his  forehead.  Suddenly  he  looked  at  his  daughter  and 

[« j 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


laughed.  The  laugh  was  so  strange  that  Lily  coloured 
under  it:  she  disliked  being  ridiculed,  and  her  father 
seemed  to  see  something  ridiculous  in  the  request.  Per- 
haps he  thought  it  foolish  that  she  should  trouble  him 
about  such  a trifle. 

“Twelve  dollars — twelve  dollars  a day  for  flowers.? 
Oh,  certainly,  my  dear — give  him  an  order  for  twelve 
hundred.”  He  continued  to  laugh. 

Mrs.  Bart  gave  him  a quick  glance. 

“You  need  n’t  wait,  Pole  worth — I will  ring  for  you,” 
she  said  to  the  butler. 

The  butler  withdrew  with  an  air  of  silent  disapproval, 
leaving  the  remains  of  the  cliaufroix  on  the  sideboard. 

“What  is  the  matter,  Hudson.?  Ai’e  you  ill.?”  said 
Mrs.  Bart  severely. 

She  had  no  tolerance  for  scenes  which  were  not  of  her 
own  making,  and  it  was  odious  to  her  that  her  husband 
should  make  a show  of  himself  before  the  servants. 

“Are  you  ill.?”  she  repeated. 

“111.? No,  I’m  ruined,”  he  said.  ^ 

Lily  made  a frightened  sound,  and  ^-oa  'S.  Bart  rose 
to  her  feet. 

“Ruined .?”  she  cried;  but  controlling  herself  in- 

stantly, she  turned  a calm  face  to  Lily. 

“Shut  the  pantry  door,”  she  said. 

Lily  obeyed,  and  when  she  turned  back  into  the  room 
her  father  was  sitting  with  both  elbows  on  the  table,  the 
[ 50  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


plate  of  salmon  between  them,  and  his  head  bowed  on 
his  bands. 

Mrs.  Bart  stood  over  him  with  a white  face  which  made 
her  hair  unnaturally  yellow.  She  looked  at  Lily  as  the  lat- 
ter approached:  her  look  was  terrible,  but  her  voice  was 
modulated  to  a ghastly  cheerfulness. 

“Your  father  is  not  well — he  doesn’t  know  what  he 
is  saying.  It  is  nothing — but  you  had  better  go  upstairs; 
and  don’t  talk  to  the  servants,”  she  added. 

Lily  obeyed;  she  always  obeyed  when  her  mother  spoke 
in  that  voice.  She  had  not  been  deceived  by  Mrs.  Bart’s 
words:  she  knew  at  once  that  they  were  ruined.  In  the 
dark  hours  which  followed,  that  awful  fact  overshadowed 
even  her  father’s  slow  and  difficult  dying.  To  his  wife  he 
no  longer  counted : he  had  become  extinct  when  he  ceased 
to  fulfil  his  purpose,  and  she  sat  at  his  side  with  the  pro- 
visional air  of  a traveller  who  waits  for  a belated  train  to 
start.  Lily’s  feelings  were  softer:  she  pitied  him  in  a 
frightened  ineffectual  way.  But  the  fact  that  he  was  for 
the  most  part  unconscious,  and  that  his  attention,  when 
she  stole  into  the  room,  drifted  away  from  her  after  a 
moment,  made  him  even  more  of  a stranger  than  in  the 
nursery  days  when  he  had  never  come  home  till  after 
dark.  She  seemed  always  to  have  seen  him  through  a 
blur — first  of  sleepiness,  then  of  distance  and  indiffer- 
. ence — andiibw  the  fog  had  thickened  till  he  was  almost 
indistinguishable.  If  she  could  have  performed  any  little 
[ 51  J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


services  for  him,  or  have  exchanged,  mth  him  a few  of 
those  affecting  words  which  an  extensive  perusal  of  fic- 
tion had  led  her  to  connect  with  such  occasions,  the  filial 
instinct  might  have  stirred  in  her;  but  her  pity,  finding 
no  active  expression,  remained  in  a state  of  spectator- 
ship,  overshadowed  by  her  mother’s  grim  unflagging  re- 
sentment. Every  look  and  act  of  Mrs.  Bart’s  seemed  to 
say:  “You  are  sorry  for  him  now — but  you  will  feel  dif- 
ferently when  you  see  what  he  has  done  to  us.” 

It  was  a relief  to  Lily  when  her  father  , died. 

Then  a long  winter  set  in.  There  was  a little  money 
left,  but  to  Mrs.  Bart  it  seemed  worse  than  nothing — ■ 
the  mere  mockery  of  what  she  was  entitled  to.  MTiat  was 
the  use  of  living  if  one  had  to  live  like  a pig.^  She  sank 
into  a kind  of  furious  apathy,  a state  of  inert  anger  against 
fate.  Her  faculty  for  “ managing”  deserted  her,  or  she  no 
longer  took  sufficient  pride  in  it  to  exert  it.  It  was  well 
enough  to  “manage”  when  by  so  doing  one  could  keep 
one’s  own  caniage;  but  when  one’s  best  contrivance  did 
not  conceal  the  fact  that  one  had  to  go  on  foot,  the 
effort  was  no  longer  worth  making. 

Lily  and  her  mother  wandered  from  place  to  place, 
now  paying  long  visits  to  relations  whose  house-keeping 
Mrs.  Bart  criticized,  and  who  deplored  the  fact  that  she 
let  Lily  breakfast  in  bed  when  the  girl  had  no  prospects 
before  her,  and  now  vegetating  in  cheap  continental  re- 
fug es,  where  Mrs.  Bart  held  herself  fiercely  aloof  from 
[ 52  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  frugal  tea-tables  of  her  companions  in  misfortune. 
She  was  especially  careful  to  avoid  her  old  friends  and 
the  scenes  of  her  former  successes.  To  be  poor  seemed 
to  her  such  a confession  of  failure  that  it  amounted  to 
disgrace;  and  she  detected  a note  of  condescension  in  the 
friendliest  advances. 

Only  one  thought  consoled  her,  and  that  was  the  con- 
templation of  Lily’s  beauty.  She  studied  it  with  a kind 
of  passion,  as  though  it  were  some  weapon  she  had  slowly 
fashioned  for  her  vengeance.  It  was  the  last  asset  in  their 
fortunes,  the  nucleus  around  which  their  life  was  to  be 
rebuilt.  ^e-wateRed^TTjealpusly,  as  though  it  were  her 
own  property  and  Lily  its  mere  custodian;  and  she  tried 
to  instil  into  the  latter  a sense  of  the  responsibility  that 
such  a charge  involved.  She  followed  in  imagination  the 
career  of  other  beauties,  pointing  out  to  her  daughter 
what  might  be  achieved  through  such  a gift,  and  dwell- 
ing on  the  awful  warning  of  those  who,  in  spite  of  it,  had 
failed  to  get  what  they  wanted : to  Mrs.  Bart,  only  stu- 
pidity could  explain  the  lamentable  denouement  of  some 
of  her  examples.  She  was  not  above  the  inconsistency  of 
chai’ging  fate,  rather  than  herself,  with  her  own  misfor- 
tunes; but  she  inveighed  so  acrimoniously  against  love- 
matches  that  Lily  would  have  fancied  her  own  marriage 
had  been  of  that  nature,  had  not  Mrs.  Bart  frequently 
assured  her  that  she  had  been  “talked  into  it” — by 
whom,  she  never  made  clear. 

[ 53  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lily  was  duly  impressed  by  the  magnitude  of  her  op 
portunities.  The  dinginess  of  her  present  life  threw  into 
enchanting  relief  the  existence  to  which  she  felt  herself 
entitled.  To  a less  illuminated  intelligence  Mrs.  Bart’s 
counsels  might  have  been  dangerous ; but  Lily  undg^tood 
that  beauty  is  only  the  raw  material  of  conquest,  and 
that  to  convert  it  into  success  other  arts  are  required. 
She  knew  that  to  betray  any  sense  of  superiority  was  a 
subtler  form  of  the  stupidity  her  mother  denounced,  and 
it  did  not  take  her  long  to  learn  that  a beauty  needs 
more  tact  than  the  possessor  of  an  average  set  of  features. 

Her  ambitions  were  not  as  cinide  as  Mrs.  Bart’s.  It  had 
been  among  that  lady’s  grievances  that  her  husband  — 
in  the  early  days,  before  he  was  too  tired — had  wasted 
his  evenings  in  what  she  vaguely  described  as  “reading 
poetry”;  and  among  the  effects  packed  off  to  auction 
after  his  death  were  a score  or  two  of  dingy  volumes 
which  had  struggled  for  existence  among  the  boots  and 
medicine  bottles  of  his  di'essing-room  shelves.  There  was 
in  Lily  a vein  of  sentiment,  perhaps  transmitted  from 
this  source,  which  gave  an  idealizing  touch  to  her  most 
prosaic  purposes.  She  liked  to  think  of  her  beauty  as  a 
power  for  good,  as  giving  her  the  opportunity  to  attain 
a position  where  she  should  make  her  influence  felt  in 
the  vague  diflusion  of  refinement  and  good  taste.  She  was 
fond  of  pictures  and  flowers,  and  of  sentimental  fiction, 
and  she  could  not  help  thinking  that  the  possession  of 
[ 54  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


such  tastes  ennobled  her  desire  for  worldly  advantages. 
She  would  not  indeed  have  cared  to  marry  a man  who 
was  merely  rich : she  was  secretly  ashamed  of  her  mother’s 
crude  passion  for  money.  Lily’s  preference  would  have 
been  for  an  English  nobleman  with  political  ambitions 
and  vast  estates ; or,  for  second  choice,  an  Italian  prince 
with  a castle  in  the  Apennines  and  an  hereditary  office 
in  the  Vatican.  Lost  causes  had  a romantic  charm  for  her, 
and  she  liked  to  picture  herself  as  standing  aloof  from 
the  vulgar  press  of  the  Quirinal,  and  sacrificing  her  plea- 
sure to  the  claims  of  an  immemorial  tradition.  . . . 

How  long  ago  and  how  far  off  it  all  seemed!  Those 
ambitions  were  hardly  more  futile  and  childish  than  the 
earlier  ones  which  had  centred  about  the  possession  of  a 
French  jointed  doll  with  real  hair.  Was  it  only  ten  years 
since  she  had  wavered  in  imagination  between  the  Eng- 
lish earl  and  the  Italian  prince?  Relentlessly  her  mind 
travelled  on  over  the  dreary  interval.  . . . 

After  two  years  of  hungry  roaming  Mrs.  Bart  had  died 
— died  of  a deep  disgust.  She  had  hated  dinginess,  and 
it  was  her  fate  to  be  dingy.  Her  visions  of  a brilliant 
marriage  for  Lily  had  faded  after  the  first  year. 

“People  can’t  marry  you  if  they  don’t  see  you — and 
how  can  they  see  you  in  these  holes  where  we’re  stuck?” 
That  was  the  burden  of  her  lament;  and  her  last  adju- 
ration to  her  daughter  was  to  escape  from  dinginess  if 
she  could. 


[ 55  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Don’t  let  it  creep  up  on  you  and  drag  you  dowru 
Fight  your  way  out  of  it  somehow — you  ’re  young  and 
can  do  it,”  she  insisted. 

She  had  died  during  one  of  their  brief  visits  to  New 
York,  and  there  Lily  at  once  became  the  centre  of  a fa- 
mily council  composed  of  the  wealthy  relatives  whom  she 
had  been  taught  to  despise  for  living  like  pigs.  It  may 
be  that  they  had  an  inkling  of  the  sentiments  in  which 
she  had  been  brought  up,  for  none  of  them  manifested  a 
very  lively  desire  for  her  company;  indeed,  the  question 
threatened  to  remain  unsolved  till  Mrs.  Peniston  with  a 
sigh  announced : “ I ’ll  try  her  for  a year.” 

Every  one  was  surprised,  but  one  and  all  concealed 
their  surprise,  lest  Mrs.  Peniston  should  be  alarmed  by 
it  into  reconsidering  her  decision. 

Mrs.  Peniston  was  Mr.  Bart’s  wdowed  sister,  and  if 
she  was  by  no  means  the  richest  of  the  family  group,  its 
other  members  nevertheless  abounded  in  reasons  why  she 
was  clearly  destined  by  Providence  to  assume  the  charge 
of  Lily.  In  the  first  place  she  was  alone,  and  it  would  be 
charming  for  her  to  have  a young  companion.  Then  she 
sometimes  travelled,  and  Lily’s  familiarity  with  foreign 
customs — deplored  as  a misfortune  by  her  more  con- 
servative relatives — would  at  least  enable  her  to  act  as 
a kind  of  courier.  But  as  a matter  of  fact  IMrs.  Peniston 
had  not  been  affected  by  these  considerations.  She  had 
taken  the  girl  simply  because  no  one  else  would  have  her, 

Lse  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

and  because  she  had  the  kind  of  moral  mauvaise  Jionte 
which  makes  the  public  display  of  selfishness  difiicult, 
though  it  does  not  interfere  with  its  private  indulgence. 
It  would  have  been  impossible  for  Mrs.  Peniston  to  be 
heroic  on  a desert  island,  but  with  the  eyes  of  her  little 
world  upon  her  she  took  a certain  pleasure  in  her  act. 

She  reaped  the  reward  to  which  disinterestedness  is  en- 
titled, and  found  an  agreeable  companion  in  her  niece. 
She  had  expected  to  find  Lily  headstrong,  critical  and 
“foreign” — for  even  Mrs.  Peniston,  though  she  occasion- 
went  abroad,  had  the  family  dread  of  foreignness — 
but  the  girl  showed  a phancy,  which,_to  a_more  pene- 
trating mind  than  her  aunt’s,  might  have  been  less  re- 
assuring than  the  open  selfishness  of  youth.  Misfortune 
had  made  Lily  supple  instead  of  hai’dening  her,  and  a 
pliable  substance  is  less  easy  to  break  than  a stiff  one. 

Mrs.  Peniston,  however,  did  not  suffer  from  her  niece’s 
adaptability.  Lily  had  no  intention  of  taking  advantage 
of  her  aunt’s  good  nature.  She  was  in  truth  grateful  for 
the  I’efuge  offered  her:  Mrs.  Peniston’s  opulent  interior 
was  at  least  not  externally  dingy.  But  dinginess  is  a 
quality  which  assumes  all  manner  of  disguises;  and  Lily 
soon  found  that  it  was  as  latent  in  the  expensive  rou- 
tine of  her  aunt’s  life  as  in  the  makeshift  existence  of  a 
^continental  pension. 

Mrs.  Peniston  was  one  of  the  episodical  persons  who 
form  the  padding  of  life.  It  was  impossible  to  believe 

[ ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

that  she  had  herself  ever  been  a focus  of  activities.  The 
most  \dvid  thing  about  her  was  the  fact  that  her  gi'and- 
mother  had  been  a Van  Alstyne.  This  connection  with 
the  well-fed  and  industrious  stock  of  early  New  York 
revealed  itself  in  the  glacial  neatness  of  Mrs.  Peniston’s 
drawing-room  and  in  the  excellence  of  her  cuisine.  She 
belonged  to  the  class_pf  old  New  V^orkers  who  have  al- 
ways lived  well,  dressed  expensively,  and  done  little  else; 
and  to  these  inherited  obligations  Mrs.  Peniston  faith- 
fully conformed.  She  had  always  been  a looker-on  at  life, 
and  her  mind  resembled  one  of  those  little  mirrors  which 
her  Dutch  ancestors  were  accustomed  to  affix  to  their 
upper  windows,  so  that  from  the  depths  of  an  impene-  j 
trable  domesticity  they  might  see  what  was  happening  | 
in  the  street. 

Mrs.  Peniston  was  the  owner  of  a country-place  in  New 
Jersey,  but  she  had  never  lived  there  since  her  husband’s 
death — a remote  event,  which  appeared  to  dwell  in  her 
memory  chiefly  as  a di\dding  point  in  the  pei'sonal  remi- 
niscences that  formed  the  staple  of  her  conversation.  She 
was  a woman  who  remembered  dates  with  intensity,  and 
could  tell  at  a moment’s  notice  whether  the  drawing- 
room curtains  had  been  renewed  before  or  after  Mr.  Pen- 
iston’s last  illness. 

Mrs.  Peniston  thought  the  country  lonely  and  trees 
damp,  and  cherished  a vague  fear  of  meeting  a bull.  To 
guard  against  such  contingencies  she  frequented  the  more 
[ 58  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


populous  watering-places,  where  she  installed  herself  im« 
personally  in  a hired  house  and  looked  on  at  life  through 
the  matting  screen  of  her  verandah.  In  the  care  of  such 
a guardian,  it  soon  became  clear  to  Lily  that  she  was  to 
enjoy  only  the  material  advantages  of  good  food  and 
expensive  clothing;  and,  though  far  from  underrating 
these,  she  would  gladly  have  exchanged  them  for  what 
Mrs.  Bart  had  taught  her  to  regard  as  opportunities. 
She  sighed  to  think  what  her  mother’s  fierce  energies 
would  have  accomplished,  had  they  been  coupled  with 
Mrs.  Peniston’s  resources.  Lily  had  abundant  energy  of 
her  own,  but  it  was  restricted  by  the  necessity  of  adapt- 
ing herself  to  her  aunt’s  habits.  She  saw  that  at  all  costs 
she  must  keep  Mrs.  Peniston’s  favour  till,  as  Mrs.  Bart 
would  have  phrased  it,  she  could  stand  on  her  own  legs. 
Lily  had  no  mind  for  the  vagabond  life  of  the  poor  re- 
lation, and  to  adapt  herself  to  Mrs.  Peniston  she  had,  to 
some  degree,  to  assume  that  lady’s  passive  attitude.  She 
had  fancied  at  first  that  it  would  be  easy  to  draw  her 
aunt  into  the  whirl  of  her  own  activities,  but  there  was 
a static  force  in  Mrs.  Peniston  against  which  her  niece’s 
efforts  spent  themselves  in  vain.  To  attempt  to  bring  her 
into  active  relation  with  life  was  like  tugging  at  a piece 
of  furniture  which  has  been  screwed  to  the  floor.  She 
did  not,  indeed,  expect  Lily  to  remain  equally  immov- 
able : she  had  all  the  American  guardian’s  indulgence 
for  the  volatility  of  youth.  She  had  indulgence  also  for 

r 59 1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

certain  other  habits  of  her  niece’s.  It  seemed  to  her  nat- 
ural that  Lily  should  spend  all  her  money  on  dress,  and 
she  supplemented  the  girl’s  scanty  income  by  occasional 
“ handsome  presents  ” meant  to  be  applied  to  the  same 
purpose.  Lily,  who  was  intensely  practical,  would  have 
preferred  a fixed  allowance ; but  Mrs.  Peniston  liked  the 
periodical  recurrence  of  gratitude  evoked  by  unexpected 
cheques,  and  was  perhaps  shrewd  enough  to  perceive  that 
such  a method  of  giving  kept  alive  in  her  niece  a salu- 
tary sense  of  dependence. 

Beyond  this,  Mrs.  Peniston  had  not  felt  called  upon  to 
do  anything  for  her  charge : she  had  simply  stood  aside  and 
let  her  take  the  field.  Lily  had  taken  it,  at  first  with  the 
confidence  of  assured  possessorship,  then  with  gradually 
narrowing  demands,  till  now  she  found  herself  actually 
struggling  for  a foothold  on  the  broad  space  which  had 
once  seemed  her  own  for  the  asking.  How  it  happened 
she  did  not  yet  know.  Sometimes  she  thought  it  was  be- 
cause Mrs.  Peniston  had  been  too  passive,  and  again  she 
feared  it  was  because  she  herself  had  not  been  passive 
enough.  Had  she  shown  an  undue  eagerness  for  victor}'? 
Had  she  lacked  patience,  pliancy  and  dissimulation? 
Whether  she  charged  herself  with  these  faults  or  ab- 
solved herself  from  them,  made  no  difference  in  the  sum- 
total  of  her  failure.  Younger  and  plainer  girls  had  been 
married  off  by  dozens,  and  she  was  nine-and-twenty,  and 
still  Miss  Bai-t. 


[ 60  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


She  ^as  beginning  to  have  fits  of  angry  rebellion 
against  fate,  when  she  longed  to_drop  out  of  the  race 
and  make  an  independent  life  for  herself.  But  what  man- 
ner of  life  would  it  be  ? She  had  barely  enough  money  to 
pay  her  dress-makers’  bills  and  her  gambling  debts  ; and 
none  of  the  desultory  interests  which  she  dignified  with 
the  name  of  tastes  was  pronounced  enough  to  enable  her 
to  live  contentedly  in  obscurity.  Ah,  no  — she  was  too 
intelligent  not  to  be  honest  with  herself.  She  knew  that 
she  hated  dinginess  as  much  as  her  mother  had  hated  it, 
and  to  her  last  breath  she  meant  to  fight  against  it, 
dragging  herself  up  again  and  again  above  its  flood  till 
she  gained  the  bright  pinnacles  of  success  which  pre^ 
sented  such  a slippery  surface  to  her  clutch. 


IV 

The  next  moming,  on  her  breakfast  tray.  Miss 
Bart  found  a note  from  her  hostess. 

“Dearest  Lily,”  it  ran,  “if  it  is  not  too  much  of  a 
bore  to  be  down  by  ten,  will  you  come  to  my  sitting- 
room  to  help  me  with  some  tiresome  things 

Lily  tossed  aside  the  note  and  subsided  on  her  pil- 
lows with  a sigh.  It  was  a bore  to  be  down  by  ten — 
an  hour  regarded  at  Bellomont  as  vaguely  synchronous 
with  sunrise — and  she  knew  too  well  the  nature  of  the 
tiresome  things  in  question.  Miss  Pragg,  the  secretary, 
[ 61  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

had  been  called  away,  and  there  would  be  notes  and  din- 
ner-cards to  write,  lost  addresses  to  hunt  up,  and  other 
social  drudgery  to  perform.  It  was_ understood  that  Miss 
Bart  should  fill  the  gap  in  such  emergencies,  and  she 
usually  recognized  the  obligation  without  a murmur. 

Today,  however,  it  renewed  the  sense  of  serUtude 
which  the  previous  night’s  review  of  her  cheque-book 
had  produced.  Everything  in  her  surroundings  minis- 
tered to  feelings  of  ease  and  amenity.  The  windows  stood 
open  to  the  sparkling  freshness  of  the  September  morn- 
ing, and  between  the  yellow  boughs  she  caught  a per- 
spective of  hedges  and  parterres  leading  by  degrees  of 
lessening  formality  to  the  free  undulations  of  the  park. 
Her  maid  had  kindled  a little  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  it 
contended  cheerfully  with  the  sunlight  which  slanted 
across  the  moss-green  carpet  and  caressed  the  curved 
sides  of  an  old  marquetry  desk.  Near  the  bed  stood  a 
table  holding  her  breakfast  tray,  with  its  harmonious 
porcelain  and  silver,  a handful  of  vfiolets  in  a slender 
glass,  and  the  morning  paper  folded  beneath  her  letters. 
There  was  nothing  new  to  Lily  in  these  tokens  of  a 
studied  luxury  ; but,  though  they  formed  a part  of  her 
atmosphere,  she  never  lost  her  sensitiveness  to  their 
charm.  Mere  display  left  her  with  a sense  of  superior 
distinction ; but  she  felt  an  affinity  to  aU  the  subtler 
manifestations  of  wealth. 

IVIrs.  Trenor’s  summons,  however,  suddenly  recalled 

[ 62,] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


her  state  of  dependence,  and  she  rose  and  dressed  in  a 
mood  of  irritability  that  she  was  usually  too  pnident  to 
indulge.  She  knew  that  such  emotions  leave  lines  on  the 
face  as  well  as  in  the  character,  and  she  had  meant  to 
take  warning  by  the  little  creases  which  her  midnight 
survey  had  revealed. 

The  matter-of-course  tone  of  Mrs.  Trenor’s  greeting 
deepened  her  irritation.  If  one  did  drag  one’s  self  out  of 
bed  at  such  an  hour,  and  come  down  fresh  and  radiant 
to  the  monotony  of  note-writing,  some  special  recogni- 
tion of  the  sacrifice  seemed  fitting.  But  Mrs.  Trenor’s 
tone  showed  no  consciousness  of  the  fact. 

“ Oh,  Lily,  that ’s  nice  of  you,”  she  merely  sighed 
across  the  chaos  of  letters,  bills  and  other  domestic  docu- 
ments which  gave  an  incongruously  commercial  touch 
to  the  slender  elegance  of  her  writing-table. 

“There  are  such  lots  of  horrors  this  morning,”  she 
added,  clearing  a space  in  the  centre  of  the  confusion  and 
rising  to  yield  her  seat  to  Miss  Bart. 

Ml'S.  Trenor  was  a tall  fair  woman,  whose  height  just 
saved  her  from  redundancy.  Her  rosy  blondness  had  sur- 
vived some  forty  years  of  futile  activity  without  show- 
ing much  trace  of  ill-usage  except  in  a diminished  play 
of  feature.  It  was  difiicult  to  define  her  beyond  saying 
that  she  seemed  to  exist  only  as  a hostess,  not  so  much 
from  any  exaggerated  instinct  of  hospitality  as  because 
she  could  not  sustain  life  except  in  a crowd.  The  collec- 
[ 63  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


tive  nature  of  her  interests  exempted  her  from  the  ordi* 
nary  rivalries  of  her  sex,  and  she  knew  no  more  personal 
emotion  than  that  of  hatred  for  the  woman  who  pre- 
sumed to  give  bigger  dinners  or  have  more  amusing 
house-parties  than  herself.  As  her  social  talents,  backed 
by  Mr.  Trenor’s  bank-account,  almost  always  assured 
her  ultimate  triumph  in  such  competitions,  success  had 
developed  in  her  an  unscrupulous  good  nature  toward 
the  rest  of  her  sex,  and  in  Miss  Bart's  utilitarian  classi- 
fication of  her  friends,  Mrs.  Trenor  ranked  as  the  woman 
who  was  least  likely  to  “ go  back  ” on  her. 

“ It  was  simply  inhuman  of  Pragg  to  go  off  now,” 
Mrs.  Trenor  declared,  as  her  friend  seated  herself  at  the 
desk.  “ She  says  her  sister  is  going  to  have  a baby  — as 
if  that  were  anything  to  having  a house-party ! I ’m  sure 
I shall  get  most  hombly  mixed  up  and  there  will  be 
some  awful  rows.  AVhen  I was  do^vn  at  Tuxedo  I asked 
a lot  of  people  for  next  week,  and  I ’ve  mislaid  the  list 
and  can’t  remember  who  is  coming.  And  this  week  is  go- 
ing to  be  a horrid  failure  too — and  Gwen  Van  Osburgh 
will  go  back  and  tell  her  mother  how  hored  people  were. 
I didn’t  mean  to  ask  the  Wetheralls — that  was  a blun- 
der of  Gus’s.  They  disapprove  of  Carry  Fisher,  you  know. 
As  if  one  could  help  having  Carry  Fisher ! It  icas  fool- 
ish of  her  to  get  that  second  divorce — Carry  always 
overdoes  things — but  she  said  the  only  way  to  get  a 
penny  out  of  Fisher  was  to  divorce  him  and  make  him  pay 
\ 64  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


alimony.  And  poor  Carry  has  to  consider  every  dollar. 
It’s  really  absurd  of  Alice  Wetherall  to  make  such  a 
fuss  about  meeting  her,  when  one  thinks  of  what  so- 
ciety is  coming  to.  Some  one  said  the  other  day  that 
there  was  a divorce  and  a case  of  appendicitis  in  every 
family  one  knows.  Besides,  Carry  is  the  only  person  who 
can  keep  Gus  in  a good  humour  when  we  have  bores  in 
the  house.  Have  you  noticed  that  all  the  husbands  like 
her .?  All,  I mean,  except  her  own.  It ’s  rather  clever  of 
her  to  have  made  a specialty  of  devoting  herself  to  dull 
people — the  field  is  such  a large  one,  and  she  has  it 
practically  to  herself.  She  finds  compensations,  no  doubt 
— I know  she  borrows  money  of  Gus — but  then  I ’d  pay 
her  to  keep  him  in  a good  humour,  so  I can’t  complain, 
after  all.” 

Mrs.  Trenor  paused  to  enjoy  the  spectacle  of  Miss  Bart’s 
efforts  to  unravel  her  tangled  correspondence. 

“ But  it  is  n’t  only  the  Wetheralls  and  Carry,”  she  re- 
sumed, with  a fresh  note  of  lament.  “The  truth  is,  I’m 
awfully  disappointed  in  Lady  Cressida  Raith.” 

“Disappointed.'*  Hadn’t  you  known  her  before?” 

“Mercy,  no — never  saw  her  till  yesterday.  Lady  Skid- 
daw  sent  her  over  with  letters  to  the  Van  Osburghs,  and 
I heard  that  Maria  Van  Osburgh  was  asking  a big  party 
to  meet  her  this  week,  so  I thought  it  would  be  fun  to  get 
her  away,  and  Jack  Stepney,  who  knew  her  in  India,  man- 
aged it  for  me.  Maria  was  furious,  and  actually  had  the 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


impudence  to  make  Gwen  invite  herself  here,  so  that  they 
shouldn’t  be  quite  out  of  it — if  I’d  known  what  Lady 
Cressida  was  like,  they  could  have  had  her  and  welcome ! 
But  I thought  any  friend  of  the  Skiddaws’  was  sure  to  be 
amusing.  You  remember  what  fun  Lady  Skiddaw  was.^ 
There  were  times  when  I simply  had  to  send  the  girls 
out  of  the  room.  Besides,  Lady  Cressida  is  the  Duchess 
of  Beltshire’s  sister,  and  I naturally  supposed  she  was  the 
same  sort;  but  you  never  can  teU  in  those  English  fam- 
ilies. They  are  so  big  that  there ’s  room  for  aU  kinds,  and 
it  turns  out  that  Lady  Cressida  is  the  moral  one — mar- 
ried a clergyman  and  does  missionary  work  in  the  East 
End.  Think  of  my  taking  such  a lot  of  trouble  about  a j 
clergyman’s  wife,  who  wears  Indian  jewelry  and  botan-  i 
izes ! She  made  Gus  take  her  all  through  the  glass-  ' 
houses  yesterday,  and  bothered  him  to  death  by  asking  j 
him  the  names  of  the  plants.  Fancy  treating  Gus  as  if  j 
he  were  the  gardener !” 

Mrs.  Trenor  brought  this  out  in  a crescendo  of  in- 
dignation. 

“ Oh,  well,  perhaps  Lady  Cressida  wdll  reconcile  the 
VVetheralls  to  meeting  Carry  Fisher,”  said  Miss  Bart 
pacifically. 

“I’m  sure  I hope  so!  But  she  is  boring  all  the  men 
horribly,  and  if  she  takes  to  distributing  tracts,  as  I 
hear  she  does,  it  will  be  too  depressing.  The  worst  of  it 
is  that  she  would  have  been  so  useful  at  the  right  time. 

[ 66  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


You  know  we  have  to  have  the  Bishop  once  a year,  and 
she  would  have  given  just  the  right  tone  to  things.  I 
always  have  horrid  luck  about  the  Bishop’s  visits,”  added 
Mrs.  Trenor,  whose  present  misery  was  being  fed  by  a 
rapidly  rising  tide  of  reminiscence;  “last  year,  when  he 
came,  Gus  forgot  all  about  his  being  here,  and  brought 
home  the  Ned  Wintons  and  the  Farleys — five  divorces 
and  six  sets  of  children  between  them !” 

“When  is  Lady  Cressida  going?”  Lily  enquired. 

Mrs.  Trenor  cast  up  her  eyes  in  despair.  “My  dear,  if 
one  only  knew ! I was  in  such  a hurry  to  get  her  away 
from  Maria  that  I actually  forgot  to  name  a date,  and 
Gus  says  she  told  some  one  she  meant  to  stop  here  all 
winter.” 

“To  stop  here?  In  this  house?” 

“Don’t  be  silly — in  America.  But  if  no  one  else  asks 
her — you  know  they  never  go  to  hotels.” 

“Perhaps  Gus  only  said  it  to  frighten  you.” 

“No — I heard  her  tell  Bertha  Dorset  that  she  had  six 
months  to  put  in  while  her  husband  was  taking  the  cure 
in  the  Engadine.  You  should  have  seen  Bertha  look  va- 
cant! But  it’s  no  joke,  you  know — if  she  stays  here  all 
the  autumn  she’ll  spoil  everything,  and  Maria  Van  Os- 
burgh  will  simply  exult.” 

At  this  affecting  vision  Mrs.  Trenor’s  voice  trembled 
with  self-pity. 

“Oh,  Judy — as  if  any  one  were  ever  bored  at  Bello- 

[ 67  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


mont!”  Miss  Bart  tactfully  protested.  “You  know  per- 
fectly well  that,  if  Mrs.  Van  Osburgh  were  to  get  aU  the 
right  people  and  leave  you  with  all  the  wrong  ones,  you’d 
manage  to  make  things  go  off,  and  she  would  n’t.” 

Such  an  assurance  would  usually  have  restored  Mrs. 
Trenor’s  complacency;  but  on  this  occasion  it  did  not 
chase  the  cloud  from  her  brow. 

“It  isn’t  only  Lady  Cressida,”  she  lamented.  “Every- 
thing has  gone  wrong  this  week.  I can  see  that  Bertha 
Dorset  is  furious  with  me.” 

“Furious  with  you.^  Why.?” 

“Because  I told  her  that  Lawrence  Selden  was  com- 
ing; but  he  would  n’t,  after  all,  and  she ’s  quite  un- 
reasonable enough  to  think  it ’s  my  fault.” 

Miss  Bart  put  down  her  pen  and  sat  absently  gazing 
at  the  note  she  had  begun. 

“I  thought  that  was  all  over,”  she  said. 

“So  it  is,  on  his  side.  And  of  course  Bertha  hasn’t 
been  idle  since.  But  I fancy  she’s  out  of  a job  just  at 
present — and  some  one  gave  me  a hint  that  I had  bet- 
ter ask  Lawrence.  Well,  I did  ask  him — but  I could  n’t 
make  him  come;  and  now  I suppose  she’ll  take  it  out  of 
me  by  being  perfectly  nasty  to  every  one  else.” 

“Oh,  she  may  take  it  out  of  Mm  by  being  perfectly 
charming — to  some  one  else.” 

Mrs.  Trenor  shook  her  head  dolefully.  “She  knows  he 
wouldn’t  mind.  And  who  else  is  there?  Alice  Wetherall 
[ 68  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


won’t  let  Lucius  out  of  her  sight.  Ned  Silverton  can’t 
take  his  eyes  off  Carry  Fisher — poor  boy ! Gus  is  bored 
by  Bertha,  Jack  Stepney  knows  her  too  well — and — 
well,  to  be  sure,  there’s  Percy  Gryce!” 

She  sat  up  smiling  at  the  thought. 

Miss  Bart’s  countenance  did  not  reflect  the  smile. 

“Oh,  she  and  Mr.  Gryce  would  not  be  likely  to  hit  it 
off." 

“You  mean  that  she’d  shock  him  and  he’d  bore  her? 
Well,  that ’s  not  such  a bad  beginning,  you  know.  But  I 
hope  she  won’t  take  it  into  her  head  to  be  nice  to  him, 
for  I asked  him  here  on  purpose  for  you.” 

Lily  laughed.  du  compliment!  I should  cer- 

tainly have  no  show  against  Bertha.” 

“Do  you  think  I am  uncomplimentary?  I’m  not  really, 
you  know.  Every  one  knows  you’re  a thousand  times 
handsomer  and  cleverer  than  Bertha;  but  then  you’re 
not  nasty.  And  for  always  getting  what  she  wants  in  the 
long  run,  commend  me  to  a nasty  woman.” 

Miss  Bart  stared  in  affected  reproval.  “I  thought  you 
were  so  fond  of  Bertha.” 

“Oh,  I am — it’s  much  safer  to  be  fond  of  dangerous 
people.  But  she  is  dangerous — and  if  I ever  saw  her  up 
to  mischief  it ’s  now.  I can  tell  by  poor  George’s  manner. 
That  man  is  a perfect  barometer— -he  always  knows 
when  Bertha  is  going  to ” 

“To  fall?”  Miss  Bart  suggested, 

[ 69  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Don’t  be  shocking!  iTou  know  he  believes  in  her 
still.  And  of  course  I don’t  say  there ’s  any  real  harm  in 
Bertha.  Only  she  delights  in  making  people  miserable, 
and  especially  poor  George.” 

“Well,  he  seems  cut  out  for  the  part — I don’t  wonder 
she  likes  more  cheerful  companionship.” 

“Oh,  George  is  not  as  dismal  as  you  think.  If  Bertha 
didn’t  worry  him  he  would  be  quite  different.  Or  if 
she’d  leave  him  alone,  and  let  him  arrange  his  life  as 
he  pleases.  But  she  does  n’t  dare  lose  her  hold  of  him  on 
account  of  the  money,  and  so  when  he  is  n’t  jealous  she 
pretends  to  be.” 

Miss  Bart  went  on  writing  in  silence,  and  her  hostess 
sat  following  her  train  of  thought  with  fiowning  in- 
tensity. 

“Do  you  know,”  she  exclaimed  after  a long  pause,  “I 
believe  I ’ll  call  up  Lawrence  on  the  telephone  and  tell 
him  he  simply  must  come?” 

“Oh,  don’t,”  said  Lily,  with  a quick  suffusion  of  col- 
our. The  blush  surprised  her  almost  as  much  as  it  did 
her  hostess,  who,  though  not  commonly  observant  of 
facial  changes,  sat  staring  at  her  with  puzzled  eyes. 

“Good  gracious,  Lily,  how  handsome  you  are! 

Why?  Do  you  dislike  him  so  much?” 

“Not  at  all;  I like  him.  But  if  you  are  actuated  by  the 
benevolent  intention  of  protecting  me  from  Bertha — I 
don’t  think  I need  your  protection.” 

[ 70  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Mrs.  Trenor  sat  up  with  an  exclamation.  “Lily! 

Percy?  Do  you  mean  to  say  you’ve  actually  done  it.?” 

Miss  Bart  smiled.  “I  only  mean  to  say  that  Mr.  Gryce 
and  I are  getting  to  be  very  good  friends.” 

“H’m — I see.”  Mrs.  Trenor  fixed  a rapt  eye  upon 
her.  “You  know  they  say  he  has  eight  hundred  thou- 
sand a year — and  spends  nothing,  except  on  some  rub- 
bishy old  books.  And  his  mother  has  heart-disease  and 
will  leave  him  a lot  more.  Oh,  Lily,  do  go  slowly^'  her 
friend  adjured  her. 

Miss  Bart  continued  to  smile  without  annoyance.  “I 
should  n’t,  for  instance,”  she  remarked,  “ be  in  any  haste 
to  tell  him  that  he  had  a lot  of  rubbishy  old  books.” 

“No,  of  course  not;  I know  you’re  wonderful  about 
getting  up  people’s  subjects.  But  he’s  horribly  shy,  and 
easily  shocked,  and — and— ” 

“Why  don’t  you  say  it,  Judy.?  I have  the  reputation 
of  being  on  the  hunt  for  a rich  husband.?” 

“ Oh,  I don’t  mean  that ; he  would  n’t  believe  it  of 
you — at  first,”  said  Mrs.  Trenor,  with  candid  shrewdness. 
“But  you  know  things  are  rather  lively  here  at  times 
— I must  give  Jack  and  Gus  a hint— and  if  he  thought 
you  were  what  his  mother  would  call  fast — oh,  well,  you 
know  what  I mean.  Don’t  wear  your  scarlet  crepe-de-chine 
for  dinner,  and  don’t  smoke  if  you  can  help  it,  Lily 
dear!” 

Lily  pushed  aside  her  finished  work  with  a dry  smil& 

[ T'l  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“You’re  very  kind,  Judy:  I’ll  lock  up  my  cigarettes 
and  wear  that  last  year’s  dress  you  sent  me  this  morn- 
ing. And  if  you  are  really  interested  in  my  career,  per- 
haps you’ll  be  kind  enough  not  to  ask  me  to  play 
bridge  again  this  evening.” 

“Bridge.?  Does  he  mind  bridge,  too?  Oh,  Lily,  what 
an  awful  life  you’ll  lead!  But  of  course  I won’t — why 
did  n’t  you  give  me  a hint  last  night  ? There ’s  nothing  I 
would  n’t  do,  you  poor  duck,  to  see  you  happy  I ” 

And  Mrs.  Trenor,  glowing  with  her  sex’s  eagerness  to 
smooth  the  course  of  true  love,  enveloped  Lily  in  a long 
embrace. 

“You’re  quite  sure,”  she  added  solicitously,  as  the 
latter  extricated  herself,  “ that  you  would  n’t  like  me  to 
telephone  for  Lawrence  Selden?” 

“Quite  sure,”  said  Lily. 

The  next  three  days  demonstrated  to  her  own  com- 
plete satisfaction  Miss  Bart’s  ability  to  manage  her  affairs 
without  extraneous  aid. 

As  she  sat,  on  the  Saturday  afternoon,  on  the  terrace 
at  Bellomont,  she  smiled  at  Mrs.  Trenor’s  fear  that  she 
might  go  too  fast.  If  such  a warning  had  ever  been  need- 
ful, the  years  had  taught  her  a salutary  lesson,  and  she 
flattered  herself  that  she  now  knew  how  to  adapt  her 
pace  to  the  object  of  pursuit.  In  the  case  of  JMr.  Gryce 
she  had  found  it  well  to  flutter  ahead,  losing  herself  elu- 

[ « ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


sively  and  luring  him  on  from  depth  to  depth  of  uncon- 
scious intimacy.  The  surrounding  atmosphere  was  pro- 
pitious to  this  scheme  of  courtship.  Mrs.  Trenor,  true  to 
her  word,  had  shown  no  signs  of  expecting  Lily  at  the 
bridge-table,  and  had  even  hinted  to  the  other  card- 
players  that  they  were  to  betray  no  surprise  at  her  un- 
wonted defection.  In  consequence  of  this  hint,  Lily  found 
herself  the  centre  of  that  feminine  solicitude  which  en- 
velops a young  woman  in  the  mating  season.  A solitude 
was  tacitly  created  for  her  in  the  crowded  existence  of 
Bellomont,  and  her  friends  could  not  have  shown  a 
greater  readiness  for  self-elFacement  had  her  wooing  been 
adorned  with  all  the  attributes  of  romance.  In  Lily’s  set 
this  conduct  implied  a sympathetic  comprehension  of  her 
motives,  and  Mr.  Gryce  rose  in  her  esteem  as  she  saw  the 
consideration  he  inspired. 

The  terrace  at  Bellomont  on  a September  afternoon 
was  a spot  propitious  to  sentimental  musings,  and  as  Miss 
Bart  stood  leaning  against  the  balustrade  above  the 
sunken  garden,  at  a little  distance  from  the  animated 
group  about  the  tea-table,  she  might  have  been  lost  in  the 
mazes  of  an  inarticulate  happiness.  In  reality,  her  thoughts 
were  finding  definite  utterance  in  the  tranquil  recapitu- 
lation of  the  blessings  in  store  for  her.  From  where  she 
stood  she  could  see  them  embodied  in  the  form  of  Mr. 
Gryce,  who,  in  a light  overcoat  and  muffler,  sat  some- 
what nervously  on  the  edge  of  his  chair,  while  Carry 

[ 73  ] 

J 

i 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Fisher,  with  all  the  energy  of  eye  and  gestxire  with  which 
nature  and  art  had  combined  to  endow  her,  pressed  on 
him  the  duty  of  taking  part  in  the  task  of  municipal 
reform. 

Mrs.  Fisher’s  latest  hobby  was  municipal  reform.  It 
had  been  preceded  by  an  equal  zeal  for  socialism,  which 
had  in  turn  replaced  an  energetic  advocacy  of  Chiistian 
Science.  Mrs.  Fisher  was  small,  fiery  and  dramatic;  and 
her  hands  and  eyes  were  admirable  instruments  in  the 
service  of  whatever  cause  she  happened  to  espouse.  She 
had,  however,  the  fault  common  to  enthusiasts  of  ignor- 
ing any  slackness  of  response  on  the  part  of  her  hearers, 
and  Lily  was  amused  by  her  unconsciousness  of  the  resist- 
ance displayed  in  every  angle  of  Mr.  Grj'ce’s  attitude. 
Lily  herself  knew  that  his  mind  was  divided  between  the 
dread  of  catching  cold  if  he  remained  out  of  doors  too 
long  at  that  hour,  and  the  fear  that,  if  he  retreated  to  the 
house,  Mrs,  Fisher  might  follow  him  up  with  a paper  to 
be  signed.  Mr.  Gryce  had  a constitutional  dislike  to  what 
he  called  “committing  himself,”  and  tenderly  as  he 
cherished  his  health,  he  evidently  concluded  that  it  was 
safer  to  stay  out  of  reach  of  pen  and  ink  till  chance  re- 
leased him  from  Mrs.  Fisher’s  toils.  ^leanwhile  he  cast 
agonized  glances  in  the  direction  of  Miss  Bart,  whose 
only  response  was  to  sink  into  an  attitude  of  more  grace- 
ful abstraction.  She  had  learned  the  value  of  contrast  in 
throwing  her  charms  into  relief,  and  was  fully  aware  of 
[ 74  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  extent  to  which  Mrs.  Fisher’s  volubility  was  enhan 
cing  her  own  repose. 

She  was  roused  from  her  musings  by  the  approach  of 
her  cousin  Jack  Stepney  who,  at  Gwen  Van  Osburgh’s 
side,  was  returning  across  the  garden  from  the  tennis 
court. 

The  couple  in  question  were  engaged  in  the  same  kind 
of  romance  in  which  Lily  figured,  and  the  latter  felt  a 
certain  annoyance  in  contemplating  what  seemed  to  her 
a caricature  of  her  own  situation.  Miss  Van  Osburgh  was 
a large  girl  with  flat  surfaces  and  no  high  lights:  Jack 
Stepney  had  once  said  of  her  that  she  was  as  reliable  as 
roast  mutton.  His  own  taste  was  in  the  line  of  less  solid 
and  more  highly-seasoned  diet;  but  hunger  makes  any 
fare  palatable,  and  there  had  been  times  when  Mr. 
Stepney  had  been  reduced  to  a crust. 

Lily  considered  with  interest  the  expression  of  their 
faces:  the  girl’s  turned  toward  her  companion’s  like  an 
empty  plate  held  up  to  be  filled,  while  the  man  lounging 
at  her  side  already  betrayed  the  encroaching  boredom 
which  would  presently  crack  the  thin  veneer  of  his  smile. 

“How  impatient  men  are!”  Lily  reflected.  “All  Jack 
has  to  do  to  get  everything  he  wants  is  to  keep  quiet 
and  let  that  girl  maiTy  him ; whereas  I have  to  calculate 
and  contrive,  and  retreat  and  advance,  as  if  I were  going 
through  an  intricate  dance,  where  one  misstep  would 
throw  me  hopelessly  out  of  time.” 

[75] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


As  they  drew  nearer  she  was  whimsically  struck  by  a 
kind  of  family  likeness  between  Miss  Van  Osburgh  and 
Percy  Gryce.  There  was  no  resemblance  of  feature.  Grj-ce 
was  handsome  in  a didactic  way  — he  looked  like  a clever 
pupil’s  drawing  from  a plaster-cast — while  Gwen’s  coun- 
tenance had  no  more  modelhng  than  a face  painted  on 
a toy  balloon.  But  the  deeper  affinity  was  unmistak- 
able: the  two  had  the  same  prejudices  and  ideals,  and 
the  same  quality  of  making  other  standards  non-existent 
by  ignoring  them.  This  attribute  was  common  to  most 
of  Lily’s  set:  they  had  a force  of  negation  wLich  elimi- 
nated everything  beyond  their  own  range  of  perception. 
Gryce  and  Miss  Van  Osburgh  were,  in  short,  made  for  each 
other  by  every  law  of  moral  and  physical  correspondence 

“ Yet  they  would  n’t  look  at  each  other,”  Lily  mused, 

“they  never  do.  Each  of  them  wants  a creature  of  a dif- 
ferent race,  of  Jack’s  race  and  mine,  with  all  sorts  of  in- 
tuitions, sensations  and  perceptions  that  they  don’t  even 
guess  the  existence  of.  And  they  always  get  what  they 
want.” 

She  stood  talking  with  her  cousin  and  ]\Iiss  Van  Os- 
burgh, till  a slight  cloud  on  the  latter’s  brow  advised 
her  that  even  cousinly  amenities  were  subject  to  suspi- 
cion, and  Miss  Bart,  mindful  of  the  necessity  of  not  excit- 
ing enmities  at  this  crucial  point  of  her  career,  dropped 
aside  while  the  happy  couple  proceeded  toward  the  tea- 
table. 


[ T'6  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

Seating  herself  on  the  upper  step  of  the  ten-a«6v  Lily 
leaned  her  head  against  the  honeysuckles  wreathing  the 
balustrade.  The  fragrance  of  the  late  blossoms  seemed  an 
emanation  of  the  tranquil  scene,  a landscape  tutored  to 
the  last  degree  of  mral  elegance.  In  the  foreground  glowed 
the  warm  tints  of  the  gardens.  Beyond  the  lawn,  with 
its  pyramidal  pale-gold  maples  and  velvety  firs,  sloped 
pastures  dotted  with  cattle;  and  through  a long  glade 
the  river  widened  like  a lake  under  the  silver  light  of 
September.  Lily  did  not  want  to  join  the  circle  about 
the  tea-table.  They  represented  the  fiiture  she  had  chosen, 
and  she  was  content  with  it,  but  in  no  haste  to  antici- 
pate its  joys.  The  certainty  that  she  could  marry  Percy 
Gryce  when  she  pleased  had  lifted  a heavy  load  from 
her  mind,  and  her  money  troubles  were  too  recent  for 
their  removal  not  to  leave  a sense  of  relief  which  a less 
discerning  intelligence  might  have  taken  for  happiness. 
Her  vulgar  cares  were  at  an  end.  She  would  be  able  to  ar- 
range her  life  as  she  pleased,  to  soar  into  that  empyrean 
of  security  where  creditors  cannot  penetrate.  She  would 
have  smarter  gowns  than  Judy  Trenor,  and  far,  far  more 
jewels  than  Bertha  Dorset.  She  would  be  free  forever  from 
the  shifts,  the  expedients,  the  humiliations  of  the  rela- 
tively poor.  Instead  of  having  to  flatter,  she  would  be 
flattered;  instead  of  being  grateful,  she  would  receive 
thanks.  There  were  old  scores  she  could  pay  oflP  as  well 
as  old  benefits  she  could  return.  And  she  had  no  doubts 
[ 77  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


as  to  the  extent  of  her  power.  She  knew  that  Mr.  Grj'ce 
was  of  the  small  chary  type  most  inaccessible  to  impulses 
and  emotions.  He  had  the  kind  of  character  in  which 
prudence  is  a vice,  and  good  advice  the  most  dangerous 
nourishment.  But  Lily  had  known  the  species  before: 
she  was  aware  that  such  a guarded  nature  must  find  one 
huge  outlet  of  egoism,  and  she  determined  to  be  to  him 
what  his  Americana  had  hitherto  been : the  one  posses- 
sion in  which  he  took  sufficient  pride  to  spend  money  on 
it.  She  knew  that  this  generosity  to  self  is  one  of  the 
forms  of  meanness,  and  she  resolved  so  to  identify  her- 
self with  her  husband’s  vanity  that  to  gratify  her  wishes 
would  be  to  liim  the  most  exquisite  form  of  self-indul- 
gence. The  system  might  at  first  necessitate  a resort  to 
some  of  the  very  shifts  and  expedients  from  which  she  in- 
tended it  should  free  her;  but  she  felt  sure  that  in  a short 
time  she  would  be  able  to  play  the  game  in  her  o^vn  way. 
How  should  she  have  distimsted  her  powers  ? Her  beauty 
itself  was  not  the  mere  ephemeral  possession  it  might 
have  been  in  the  hands  of  inexperience ; her  skill  in  en- 
hancing it,  the  care  she  took  of  it,  the  use  she  made  of 
it,  seemed  to  give  it  a kind  of  permanence.  She  felt  she 
could  trust  it  to  caiTy  her  through  to  the  end. 

And  the  end,  on  the  whole,  was  worth  while.  Life  was 
not  the  mockery  she  had  thought  it  three  days  ago. 
There  was  room  for  her,  after  all,  in  this  crowded  selfish 
world  of  pleasure  whence,  so  short  a time  since,  her 
[ 78  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


poverty  had  seemed  to  exc’ude  her.  These  people  whom 
she  had  ridiculed  and  yet  eiivied  were  glad  to  make  a 
place  for  her  in  the  charmed  circle  about  which  all  her 
desires  revolved.  They  were  not  as  brutal  and  self-en- 
grossed as  she  had  fancied — or  rather,  since  it  would  no 
longer  be  necessary  to  flatter  and  humour  them,  that 
side  of  their  nature  became  less  conspicuous.  Society  i^ 
a revolving  body  which  is  apt  to  be  judged  according  to  ; 
its  place  in  each  man’s  heaven;  and  at  present  it  was 
turning  its  illuminated  face  to  Lily. 

In  the  rosy  glow  it  diffused  her  companions  seemed 
full  of  amiable  qualities.  She  liked  their  elegance,  their 
lightness,  their  lack  of  emphasis : even  the  self-assurance 
which  at  times  was  so  like  obtuseness  now  seemed  the 
natural  sign  of  social  ascendency.  They  were  lords  of  the 
only  world  she  cared  for,  and  they  were  I’eady  to  admit 
her  to  their  ranks  and  let  her  lord  it  with  them.  Already 
she  felt  within  her  a stealing  allegiance  to  their  stand- 
ards, an  acceptance  of  their  limitations,  a disbelief  in 
the  things  they  did  not  believe  in,  a contemptuous  pity 
for  the  people  who  were  not  able  to  live  as  they  lived. 

The  early  sunset  was  slanting  across  the' park.  Through 
the  boughs  of  the  long  avenue  beyond  the  gardens  she 
caught  the  flash  of  wheels,  and  divined  that  more  visi- 
tors were  approaching.  There  was  a movement  behind 
her,  a scattering  of  steps  and  voices : it  was  evident  that 
the  party  about  the  tea-table  was  breaking  up.  Presently 

I 79  3 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


she  heard  a tread  behind  her  on  the  terrace.  She  sup- 
posed that  Mr.  Gryce  had  at  last  found  means  to  escape 
from  his  predicament,  and  she  smiled  at  the  significance 
of  his  coming  to  join  her  instead  of  beating  an  instant 
retreat  to  the  fire-side. 

She  turned  to  give  him  the  welcome  which  such  gal- 
lantry deserved;  but  her  greeting  wavered  into  a blush 
of  wonder,  for  the  man  who  had  approached  her  was 
Lawrence  Selden. 

“You  see  I came  after  all,”  he  said;  but  before  she 
had  time  to  answer,  Mrs.  Dorset,  breaking  away  from  a 
lifeless  colloquy  with  her  host,  had  stepped  between  them 
with  a little  gesture  of  appropriation. 


V 


HE  observance  of  Sunday  at  Bellomont  was  chiefly 


X marked  by  the  punctual  appearance  of  the  smart 
omnibus  destined  to  convey  the  household  to  the  little 
church  at  the  gates.  AVhether  any  one  got  into  the  om- 
nibus or  not  was  a matter  of  secondary  importance,  since 
by  standing  there  it  not  only  bore  witness  to  the  ortho- 
dox intentions  of  the  family,  but  made  Mrs.  Trenor 
feel,  when  she  finally  heard  it  drive  away,  that  she  had 
somehow  vicariously  made  use  of  it. 

It  was  Mrs.  Trenors  theory  that  her  daughtei’s  actu- 
ally did  go  to  church  every  Sunday;  but  their  French 


[ 80  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


governess’s  convictions  calling  her  to  the  rival  fane,  and 
the  fatigues  of  the  week  keeping  their  mother  in  her  room 
till  luncheon,  there  was  seldom  any  one  present  to  verify 
the  fact.  Now  and  then,  in  a spasmodic  burst  of  virtue — 
when  the  house  had  been  too  uproarious  over  night — Gus 
Trenor  forced  his  genial  bulk  into  a tight  frock-coat  and 
routed  his  daughters  from  their  slumbers;  but  habitually, 
as  Lily  explained  to  Mr.  Gryce,  this  parental  duty  was 
forgotten  till  the  church  bells  were  ringing  across  the 
park,  and  the  omnibus  had  driven  away  empty. 

Lily  had  hinted  to  Mr.  Gryce  that  this  neglect  of 
religious  observances  was  repugnant  to  her  early  tradi- 
tions, and  that  during  her  visits  to  Bellomont  she  regu- 
larly accompanied  Muriel  and  Hilda  to  church.  This 
tallied  with  the  assurance,  also  confidentially  imparted, 
that,  never  having  played  bridge  before,  she  had  been 
“dragged  into  it”  on  the  night  of  her  arrival,  and  had 
lost  an  appalling  amount  of  money  in  consequence  of  her 
ignorance  of  the  game  and  of  the  rules  of  betting.  Mr. 
Gryce  was  undoubtedly  enjoying  Bellomont.  He  liked 
the  ease  and  glitter  of  the  life,  and  the  lustre  conferred 
on  him  by  being  a member  of  this  group  of  rich  and 
conspicuous  people.  But  he  thought  it  a very  material- 
istic society;  there  were  times  when  he  was  frightened 
by  the  talk  of  the  men  and  the  looks  of  the  ladies,  and 
he  was  glad  to  find  that  Miss  Bart,  for  all  her  ease  and 
self-possession,  was  not  at  home  in  so  ambiguous  an  at- 
[ 81  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


mosphere.  For  this  reason  he  had  been  especially  pleased 
to  learn  that  she  would,  as  usual,  attend  the  young  Tre- 
nors  to  church  on  Sunday  morning;  and  as  he  paced  the 
gravel  sweep  before  the  door,  his  light  overcoat  on  his 
arm  and  his  prayer-book  in  one  carefully-gloved  hand, 
he  reflected  agreeably  on  the  strength  of  character  which 
kept  her  true  to  her  early  training  in  surroundings  so 
subversive  to  rehgious  principles. 

For  a long  time  Mr.  Gryce  and  the  omnibus  had  the 
gravel  sweep  to  themselves ; but,  far  from  regretting  this 
deplorable  indifference  on  the  part  of  the  other  guests, 
he  found  himself  nourishing  the  hope  that  Miss  Bart 
might  be  unaccompanied.  The  precious  minutes  were 
flying,  however;  the  big  chestnuts  pawed  the  ground 
and  flecked  their  impatient  sides  wdth  foam;  the  coach- 
man seemed  to  be  slowly  petrifying  on  the  box,  and  the 
groom  on  the  doorstep ; and  stiU  the  lady  did  not  come. 
Suddenly,  however,  there  was  a sound  of  voices  and  a 
rustle  of  skirts  in  the  doorway,  and  Mr.  Gryce,  restoring 
his  watch  to  his  pocket,  turned  with  a nervous  start;  but 
it  was  only  to  find  himself  handing  Mrs.  Wetherall  into 
the  carriage. 

The  WetheraUs  always  went  to  church.  They  belonged 
to  the  vast  group  of  human  automata  who  go  through 
life  without  neglecting  to  perform  a single  one  of  the 
gestures  executed  by  the  surrounding  puppets.  It  is  true 
that  the  Bellomont  puppets  did  not  go  to  church;  but 
.[  82  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


others  equally  important  did — and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wethv 
erall’s  circle  was  so  large  that  God  was  included  in  their 
visiting-list.  They  appeared,  therefore,  punctual  and  re- 
signed, with  the  air  of  people  bound  for  a dull  “At 
Home,”  and  after  them  Hilda  and  Muriel  straggled, 
yawning  and  pinning  each  other’s  veils  and  ribbons  as 
they  came.  They  had  promised  Lily  to  go  to  church  with 
her,  they  declared,  and  Lily  was  such  a dear  old  duck  that 
they  didn’t  mind  doing  it  to  please  her,  though  they 
could  n’t  fancy  what  had  put  the  idea  in  her  head,  and 
though  for  their  own  part  they  would  much  rather  have 
played  lawn  tennis  with  Jack  and  Gwen,  if  she  hadn’t 
told  them  she  was  coming.  The  Misses  Trenor  were 
followed  by  Lady  Cressida  Raith,  a weather-beaten  per- 
son in  Liberty  silk  and  ethnological  trinkets,  who,  on 
seeing  the  omnibus,  expressed  her  surprise  that  they 
were  not  to  walk  across  the  park;  but  at  Mrs.  Wetherall’s 
horrified  protest  that  the  church  was  a mile  away,  her 
ladyship,  after  a glance  at  the  height  of  the  other’s 
heels,  acquiesced  in  the  necessity  of  driving,  and  poor 
Mr.  Gryce  found  himself  rolling  off*  between  four  la- 
dies for  whose  spiritual  welfare  he  felt  not  the  least 
concern. 

It  might  have  afforded  him  some  consolation  could  he 
have  known  that  Miss  Bart  had  really  meant  to  go  to 
church.  She  had  even  risen  earlier  than  usual  in  the 
execution  of  her  purpose.  She  had  an  idea  that  the 

I 83  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


sight  of  her  in  a grey  gown  of  devotional  cut,  with  her 
famous  lashes  drooped  above  a prayer-book,  would  put 
the  finishing  touch  to  Mr.  Gryce’s  subjugation,  and 
render  inevitable  a certain  incident  which  she  had  re- 
solved should  form  a part  of  the  w'alk  they  were  to  take 
together  after  luncheon.  Her  intentions  in  short  had 
never  been  more  definite;  but  poor  Lily,  for  all  the  hard 
glaze  of  her  exterior,  was  inwardly  as  malleable  as  wax. 
Her  faculty  for  adapting  herself,  for  entering  into  other 
people’s  feelings,  if  it  served  her  now  and  then  in  small 
contingencies,  hampered  her  in  the  decisive  moments  of 
life.  She  was  like  a water-plant  in  the  flux  of  the  tides, 
and  today  the  whole  current  of  her  mood  was  carrying 
her  toward  Lawrence  Selden.  Why  had  he  come.'*  Was 
it  to  see  herself  or  Bertha  Dorset.'*  It  w'as  the  last  ques- 
tion which,  at  that  moment,  should  have  engaged  her. 
She  might  better  have  contented  herself  with  thinking 
that  he  had  simply  responded  to  the  despairing  sum- 
mons of  his  hostess,  anxious  to  interpose  him  between 
herself  and  the  ill-humour  of  Mrs.  Dorset.  But  Lily  had 
not  rested  till  she  learned  from  IMrs.  Trenor  that  Selden 
had  come  of  his  owm  accord. 

“He  didn’t  even  wire  me — he  just  happened  to  find 
the  trap  at  the  station.  Perhaps  it’s  not  over  wdth  Bertha 
after  all,”  Mrs.  Trenor  musingly  concluded;  and  went 
away  to  an'ange  her  dinner-cards  accordingly. 

Perhaps  it  was  not,  Lily  reflected;  but  it  should  be 

[ 84  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


soon,  unless  she  had  lost  her  cunning.  If  Selden  had 
come  at  Mrs.  Dorset’s  call,  it  was  at  her  own  that  he 
would  stay.  So  much  the  previous  evening  had  told  her. 
Mrs.  Trenor,  true  to  her  simple  principle  of  making  her 
married  friends  happy,  had  placed  Selden  and  Mrs.  Dor- 
set next  to  each  other  at  dinner;  but,  in  obedience  to 
the  time-honoured  traditions  of  the  match-maker,  she 
had  separated  Lily  and  Mr.  G'ryce,  sending  in  the  for- 
mer with  George  Dorset,  while  Mr.  Gryce  was  coupled 
with  Gwen  Van  Osburgh. 

George  Dorset’s  talk  did  not  interfere  with  the  range 
of  his  neighbour’s  thoughts.  He  was  a mournful  dyspep- 
tic, intent  on  finding  out  the  deleterious  ingredients  ot 
every  dish  and  diverted  from  this  care  only  by  the 
sound  of  his  wife’s  voice.  On  this  occasion,  however,  Mrs. 
Dorset  took  no  part  in  the  general  conversation.  She  sat 
talking  in  low  murmurs  with  Selden,  and  turning  a con- 
temptuous and  denuded  shoulder  toward  her  host,  who, 
far  from  resenting  his  exclusion,  plunged  into  the  ex- 
cesses of  the  menu  with  the  joyous  irresponsibility  of  a 
free  man.  To  Mr.  Dorset,  however,  his  wife’s  attitude 
was  a subject  of  such  evident  concern  that,  when  he  was 
not  scraping  the  sauce  from  his  fish,  or  scooping  the 
moist  bread-crumbs  from  the  interior  of  his  roll,  he  sat 
straining  his  thin  neck  for  a glimpse  of  her  between  the 
lights. 

Mrs.  Trenor,  as  it  chanced,  had  placed  the  husband 

[ 85  a 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  wife  on  opposite  sides  of  the  table,  and  Lily  was 
therefore  able  to  observe  Mrs.  Dorset  also,  and  by  carry- 
ing her  glance  a few  feet  farther,  to  set  up  a rapid  com- 
parison between  Lawrence  Selden  and  Mr.  Gryce.  It 
was  that  comparison  which  was  her  undoing.  Why  else 
had  she  suddenly  grown  interested  in  Selden.?  She  had 
known  him  for  eight  years  or  more:  ever  since  her  re- 
turn to  America  he  had  formed  a part  of  her  background. 
She  had  always  been  glad  to  sit  next  to  him  at  dinner, 
had  found  him  more  agreeable  than  most  men,  and  had 
vaguely  wished  that  he  possessed  the  other  qualities  j 
needful  to  fix  her  attention;  but  till  now  she  had  been  ; 
too  busy  with  her  own  affairs  to  regal'd  him  as  more 
than  one  of  the  pleasant  accessories  of  life.  Miss  Bart  i 
was  a keen  reader  of  her  own  heart,  and  she  saw  that 
her  sudden  preoccupation  with  Selden  was  due  to  the 
fact  that  his  presence  shed  a new  light  on  her  surround- 
ings. Not  that  he  was  notably  brilliant  or  exceptional; 
in  his  own  profession  he  was  surpassed  by  more  than  one 
man  who  had  bored  Lily  through  many  a weary  dinner. 

It  was  rather  that  he  had  preserved  a certain  social  de- 
tachment, a happy  air  of  viewing  the  show  objectively, 
of  having  points  of  contact  outside  the  great  gilt  cage 
in  which  they  were  all  huddled  for  the  mob  to  gape  at. 
How  alluring  the  world  outside  the  cage  appeared  to 
Lily,  as  she  heard  its  door  clang  on  her!  In  reality,  as 
she  knew,  the  door  never  cleuiged:  it  stood  always  open; 

[ 86  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


but  most  of  the  captives  were  like  flies  in  a bottle,  and 
having  once  flown  in,  could  never  regain  their  freedom. 
It  was  Selden’s  distinction  that  he  had  never  forgotten 
the  way  out. 

That  was  the  secret  of  his  way  of  readjusting  her 
vision.  Lily,  turning  her  eyes  from  him,  found  herself 
scanning  her  little  world  through  his  retina:  it  was  as 
though  the  pink  lamps  had  been  shut  off  and  the  dusty 
daylight  let  in.  She  looked  down  the  long  table,  study- 
ing its  occupants  one  by  one,  from  Gus  Trenor,  with 
his  heavy  carnivorous  head  sunk  between  his  shoulders, 
as  he  preyed  on  a jellied  plover,  to  his  wife,  at  the  oppo- 
site end  of  the  long  bank  of  orchids,  suggestive,  with 
her  glaring  good-looks,  of  a jeweller’s  window  lit  by  elec- 
tricity. And  between  the  two,  what  a long  stretch  of 
vacuity ! How  dreary  and  trivial  these  people  were.' 
Lily  reviewed  them  with  a scornful  impatience:  Carry 
Fisher,  with  her  shoulders,  her  eyes,  her  divorces,  her 
general  air  of  embodying  a “spicy  paragraph”;  young 
Silverton,  who  had  meant  to  live  on  proof-reading  and 
write  an  epic,  and  who  now  lived  on  his  friends  and  had 
become  critical  of  truffles ; Alice  Wetherall,  an  animated 
visiting-list,  whose  most  fervid  convictions  turned  on 
the  wording  of  invitations  and  the  engraving  of  dinner- 
cards;  Wetherall,  with  his  perpetual  nervous  nod  of  ac- 
quiescence, his  air  of  agreeing  with  people  before  he 
knew  what  they  were  saying;  Jack  Stepney,  with  his 
[ 8^  ] 


I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


confident  smile  and  anxious  eyes,  half  way  between  the 
sheriff  and  an  heiress;  Gwen  Van  Osburgh,  with  all  the 
guileless  confidence  of  a young  girl  who  has  always  been 
told  that  there  is  no  one  richer  than  her  father. 

Lily  smiled  at  her  classification  of  her  friends.  How 
different  they  had  seemed  to  her  a few  hours  ago ! '!^en 
they  had  symbolized  what  she  was  gaining,  now  they 
stood  for  what  she  was  giving  up.  That  very  afternoon 
they  had  seemed  full  of  brilliant  qualities ; now  she  saw 
that  they  were  merely  dull  in  a loud  way.  Under  the 
glitter  of  their  opportunities  she  saw  the  poverty  of 
their  achievement.  It  was  not  that  she  wanted  them  to 
be  more  disinterested;  but  she  would  have  liked  them 
to  be  more  picturesque.  And  she  had  a shamed  recollec- 
tion of  the  way  in  which,  a few  hours  since,  she  had  felt 
the  centripetal  force  of  their  standards.  She  closed  her 
eyes  an  instant,  and  the  vacuous  routine  of  the  life  she 
had  chosen  stretched  before  her  like  a long  white  road 
without  dip  or  turning : it  was  true  she  was  to  roll  over  it 
in  a carriage  instead  of  trudging  it  on  foot,  but  some- 
times the  pedestrian  enjoys  the  diversion  of  a short  cut 
which  is  denied  to  those  on  wheels. 

She  was  roused  by  a chuckle  which  INIr.  Dorset  seemed 
to  eject  from  the  depths  of  his  lean  throat. 

“I  say,  do  look  at  her,”  he  exclaimed,  turning  to  Miss 
Bart  with  lugubrious  merriment — “I  beg  your  pardon, 
but  do  just  look  at  my  wife  making  a fool  of  that  poor 
^ [ 88  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


devil  over  there ! One  would  really  suppose  she  was  gone 
on  him — and  it ’s  all  the  other  way  round,  I assure 
you.” 

Thus  adjured,  Lily  turned  her  eyes  on  the  spectacle 
which  was  affording  Mr.  Dorset  such  legitimate  mirth. 
It  certainly  appeared,  as  he  said,  that  Mrs.  Dorset  was 
the  more  active  participant  in  the  scene:  her  neighbour 
seemed  to  receive  her  advances  with  a temperate  zest 
which  did  not  distract  him  from  his  dinner.  The  sight 
restored  Lily’s  good  humour,  and  knowing  the  peculiar 
disguise  which  Mr.  Dorset’s  marital  fears  assumed,  she 
asked  gaily  : “Aren’t  you  horribly  jealous  of  her?” 

Dorset  gi-eeted  the  sally  with  delight.  “ Oh,  abomi- 
nably— you ’ve  just  hit  it — keeps  me  awake  at  night. 
The  doctors  tell  me  that ’s  what  has  knocked  my  diges- 
tion out — being  so  infernally  jealous  of  her. — I can’t  eat 
a mouthful  of  this  stuff,  you  know,”  he  added  suddenly, 
pushing  back  his  plate  with  a clouded  countenance;  and 
Lily,  unfailingly  adaptable,  accorded  her  radiant  atten- 
tion to  his  prolonged  denunciation  of  other  people’s 
cooks,  with  a supplementary  tirade  on  the  toxic  quali- 
ties of  melted  butter. 

It  was  not  often  that  he  found  so  ready  an  ear;  and, 
being  a man  as  well  as  a dyspeptic,  it  may  be  that  as  he 
poured  his  grievances  into  it  he  was  not  insensible  to  its 
rosy  symmetry.  At  any  rate  he  engaged  Lily  so  long  that 
the  sweets  were  being  handed  when  she  caught  a phrase 

[ 89  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


on  her  other  side,  where  Miss  Corby,  the  comic  woman 
of  the  company,  was  bantering  Jack  Stepney  on  his  ap- 
proaching engagement.  Miss  Corby’s  role  was  jocularity: 
she  always  entered  the  conversation  with  a handspring. 

“And  of  course  you’ll  have  Sim  Rosedale  as  best 
man!”  Lily  heard  her  fling  out  as  the  climax  of  her 
prognostications;  and  Stepney  responded,  as  if  struck; 
“Jove,  that’s  an  idea.  What  a thumping  present  I’d 
get  out  of  him!” 

Sim  Rosedale!  The  name,  made  more  odious  by  its 
diminutive,  obtruded  itself  on  Lily’s  thoughts  like  a 
leer.  It  stood  for  one  of  the  many  hated  possibilities 
hovering  on  the  edge  of  life.  If  she  did  not  marry  Percy 
Gryce,  the  day  might  come  when  she  would  have  to  be 
civil  to  such  men  as  Rosedale.  If  she  did  not  marry  him? 
But  she  meant  to  marry  him — she  wsis  sure  of  him  and 
sure  of  herself.  She  drew  back  with  a shiver  from  the 
pleasant  paths  in  which  her  thoughts  had  been  straying, 
and  set  her  feet  once  more  in  the  middle  of  the  long 
white  road.  . . . When  she  went  upstairs  that  night  she 
found  that  the  late  post  had  brought  her  a fresh  batch 
of  bills.  Mrs.  Peniston,  who  was  a conscientious  woman, 
had  forwarded  them  all  to  Bellomont. 


Miss  Bart,  accordingly,  rose  the  next  morning  with  the 
most  earnest  conviction  that  it  was  her  duty  to  go  to 
church.  She  tore  herself  betimes  fi'om  the  lingering  en- 
[ 90  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


joyment  of  her  breakfast- tray,  rang  to  have  her  grey 
gown  laid  out,  and  despatched  her  maid  to  borrow  a 
prayer-book  from  Mrs.  Trenor. 

But  her  course  was  too  purely  reasonable  not  to  con- 
tain the  germs  of  rebellion.  No  sooner  were  her  prepara- 
tions made  than  they  roused  a smothered  sense  of  resist- 
ance. A small  spark  was  enough  to  kindle  Lily’s  imagina- 
tion, and  the  sight  of  the  grey  dress  and  the  borrowed 
prayer-book  flashed  a long  light  down  the  years.  She 
would  have  to  go  to  church  with  Percy  Gryce  every 
Sunday.  They  would  have  a front  pew  in  the  most  ex- 
pensive church  in  New  York,  and  his  name  would  figure 
handsomely  in  the  list  of  parish  charities.  In  a few  years, 
when  he  grew  stouter,  he  would  be  made  a warden.  Once 
in  the  winter  the  rector  would  come  to  dine,  and  her 
husband  would  beg  her  to  go  over  the  list  and  see  that 
no  divorcees  were  included,  except  those  who  had  showed 
signs  of  penitence  by  being  re-married  to  the  very  wealthy. 
There  was  nothing  especially  arduous  in  this  round  of 
religious  obligations;  but  it  stood  for  a fraction  of  that 
great  bulk  of  boredom  which  loomed  across  her  path. 
And  who  could  consent  to  be  bored  on  such  a morning? 
Lily  had  slept  well,  and  her  bath  had  filled  her  with  a 
pleasant  glow,  which  was  becomingly  reflected  in  the 
clear  curve  of  her  cheek.  No  lines  were  visible  this  morn- 
ing, or  else  the  glass  was  at  a happier  angle. 

And  the  day  was  the  accomplice  of  her  mood:  it  was 

[ 91  } 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


a day  for  impulse  and  truancy.  The  light  air  seemed  full 
of  powdered  gold ; below  the  dewy  bloom  of  the  lawns 
the  woodlands  blushed  and  smouldered,  and  the  hills 
across  the  river  swam  in  molten  blue.  Every  drop  of 
blood  in  Lily’s  veins  invited  her  to  happiness. 

The  sound  of  wheels  roused  her  from  these  musings, 
and  leaning  behind  her  shutters  she  saw  the  omnibus 
take  up  its  freight.  She  was  too  late,  then — but  the  fact 
did  not  alarm  her.  A glimpse  of  Mr.  Gryce’s  crestfallen 
face  even  suggested  that  she  had  done  wisely  in  absent- 
ing herself,  since  the  disappointment  he  so  candidly  be- 
trayed would  surely  whet  his  appetite  for  the  afternoon 
walk.  That  walk  she  did  not  mean  to  miss;  one  glance 
at  the  bills  on  her  writing-table  was  enough  to  recall  its 
necessity.  But  meanwhile  she  had  the  morning  to  her- 
self, and  could  muse  pleasantly  on  the  disposal  of  its 
hours.  She  was  familiar  enough  with  the  habits  of  Bello- 
mont  to  know  that  she  was  likely  to  have  a free  field  till 
luncheon.  She  had  seen  the  Wetheralls,  the  Trenor  girls 
and  Lady  Cressida  packed  safely  into  the  omnibus;  Judy 
Trenor  was  sure  to  be  having  her  hair  shampooed ; Carrv' 
Fisher  had  doubtless  carried  off  her  host  for  a drive,  Ned 
Silverton  was  probably  smoking  the  cigarette  of  young 
despair  in  his  bedroom;  and  Kate  Corby  was  certain  to 
be  playing  tennis  with  Jack  Stepney  and  Miss  Van  Os- 
burgh.  Of  the  ladies,  this  left  only  IVIrs.  Dorset  unac- 
counted for,  and  ]\Irs.  Dorset  never  came  down  till  lun- 
[ 92  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


cheon : her  doctors,  she  averred,  had  forbidden  her  to  ex* 
pose  herself  to  the  crude  air  of  the  morning. 

To  the  remaining  members  of  the  party  Lily  gave 
no  special  thought;  wherever  they  were,  they  were  not 
likely  to  interfere  with  her  plans.  These,  for  the  mo- 
ment, took  the  shape  of  assuming  a dress  somewhat  more 
rustic  and  summerlike  in  style  than  the  garment  she  had 
first  selected,  and  rustling  downstairs,  sunshade  in  hand, 
with  the  disengaged  air  of  a lady  in  quest  of  exercise. 
The  great  hall  was  empty  but  for  the  knot  of  dogs  by 
the  fire,  who,  taking  in  at  a glance  the  out-door  aspect 
of  Miss  Bart,  were  upon  her  at  once  with  lavish  offers  of 
companionship.  She  put  aside  the  ramping  paws  which 
conveyed  these  offers,  and  assuring  the  joyous  volunteers 
that  she  might  presently  have  a use  for  their  company, 
sauntered  on  through  the  empty  drawing-room  to  the 
library  at  the  end  of  the  house.  The  library  was  almost 
the  only  surviving  portion  of  the  old  manor-house  of 
Bellomont:  a long  spacious  room,  revealing  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  mother-country  in  its  classically -cased  doors, 
the  Dutch  tiles  of  the  chimney,  and  the  elaborate  hob- 
grate  with  its  shining  brass  urns.  A few  family  portraits 
of  Ian  tern -jawed  gentlemen  in  tie-wigs,  and  ladies  with 
large  head-dresses  and  small  bodies,  hung  between  the 
shelves  lined  with  pleasantly-shabby  books : books  mostly 
contemporaneous  with  the  ancestors  in  question,  and  to 
which  the  subsequent  Trenors  had  made  no  perceptible 
[ 93  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


additions.  The  library  at  Bellomont  was  in  fact  never 
used  for  reading,  though  it  had  a certain  popularity  as 
a smoking-room  or  a quiet  retreat  for  flirtation.  It  had 
occurred  to  Lily,  however,  that  it  might  on  this  occasion 
have  been  resorted  to  by  the  only  member  of  the  party 
in  the  least  likely  to  put  it  to  its  original  use.  She  ad- 
vanced noiselessly  over  the  dense  old  rug  scattered  with 
easy-chairs,  and  before  she  reached  the  middle  of  the 
room  she  saw  that  she  had  not  been  mistaken.  Law- 
rence Selden  was  in  fact  seated  at  its  farther  end;  but 
though  a book  lay  on  his  knee,  his  attention  was  not 
engaged  with  it,  but  directed  to  a lady  whose  lace-clad 
figure,  as  she  leaned  back  in  an  adjoining  chair,  detached 
itself  with  exaggerated  slimness  against  the  dusky  leather 
of  the  upholstery. 

Lily  paused  as  she  caught  sight  of  the  group;  for  a 
moment  she  seemed  about  to  withdraw,  but  thinking 
better  of  this,  she  announced  her  approach  by  a slight 
shake  of  her  skirts  which  made  the  couple  raise  their 
heads,  Mrs.  Dorset  with  a look  of  frank  displeasure,  and 
Selden  with  his  usual  quiet  smile.  The  sight  of  his  com- 
posure had  a disturbing  effect  on  Lily;  but  to  be  dis- 
turbed was  in  her  case  to  make  a more  brilliant  effort  at 
self-possession. 

“Dear  me,  am  I late?”  she  asked,  putting  a hand  in 
his  as  he  advanced  to  greet  her. 

“I..ate  for  what?”  enquired  Mrs.  Dorset  tartly.  “Not 

[ 94  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


for  luncheon,  certainly — but  perhaps  you  had  an  earlier 
engagement?” 

“Yes,  I had,”  said  Lily  confidingly. 

“Really?  Perhaps  I am  in  the  way,  then?  But  Mr. 
Selden  is  entirely  at  your  disposal.”  Mrs.  Dorset  was  pale 
with  temper,  and  her  antagonist  felt  a certain  pleasure 
in  prolonging  her  distress. 

“Oh,  dear,  no — do  stay,”  she  said  good-humouredly. 
“I  don’t  in  the  least  want  to  drive  you  away.” 

“You  ’re  awfully  good,  dear,  but  I never  interfere  with 
Mr.  Selden’s  engagements.” 

The  remark  was  uttered  with  a little  air  of  proprietor- 
ship not  lost  on  its  object,  who  concealed  a faint  blush 
of  annoyance  by  stooping  to  pick  up  the  book  he  had 
dropped  at  Lily’s  approach.  The  latter’s  eyes  widened 
charmingly  and  she  broke  into  a light  laugh. 

“But  I have  no  engagement  with  Mr.  Selden!  My  en- 
gagement was  to  go  to  church ; and  I ’m  afraid  the  omni- 
bus has  started  without  me.  Has  it  started,  do  you  know?” 

She  turned  to  Selden,  who  replied  that  he  had  heard 
it  drive  away  some  time  since. 

“Ah,  then  I shall  have  to  walk;  I promised  Hilda  and 
Muriel  to  go  to  church  with  them.  It’s  too  late  to  walk 
there,  you  say?  Well,  I shall  have  the  credit  of  trying, 
at  any  rate — and  the  advantage  of  escaping  part  of  the 
service.  I’m  not  so  sorry  for  myself,  after  all!” 

And  with  a bright  nod  to  the  couple  on  whom  she  had 

95  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


intruded,  Miss  Bart  strolled  through  the  glass  doors 
and  carried  her  rustling  grace  down  the  long  perspective 
of  the  garden  walk. 

She  was  taking  her  way  churchward,  but  at  no  very 
quick  pace ; a fact  not  lost  on  one  of  her  observers,  who 
stood  in  the  doorway  looking  after  her  with  an  air  of 
puzzled  amusement.  The  truth  is  that  she  was  conscious 
of  a somewhat  keen  shock  of  disappointment.  All  her 
plans  for  the  day  had  been  built  on  the  assumption  that 
it  was  to  see  her  that  Selden  had  come  to  Bellomont. 
She  had  expected,  when  she  came  downstairs,  to  find  him 
on  the  watch  for  her;  and  she  had  found  him,  instead, 
in  a situation  which  might  well  denote  that  he  had  been 
on  the  watch  for  another  lady.  Was  it  possible,  after  all, 
that  he  had  come  for  Bertha  Dorset?  The  latter  had 
acted  on  the  assumption  to  the  extent  of  appearing  at 
an  hour  when  she  never  showed  herself  to  ordinary  mor- 
tals, and  Lily,  for  the  moment,  saw  no  way  of  putting 
her  in  the  wrong.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  that  Selden 
might  have  been  actuated  merely  by  the  desire  to  spend 
a Sunday  out  of  town:  women  never  learn  to  dispense 
with  the  sentimental  motive  in  their  judgments  of  men. 
But  Lily  was  not  easily  disconcerted;  competition  put 
her  on  her  mettle,  and  she  reflected  that  Selden’s  com- 
ing, if  it  did  not  declare  him  to  be  still  in  Mrs.  Dorset’s 
toils,  showed  him  to  be  so  completely  free  from  them 
that  he  was  not  afraid  of  her  proximity. 

[ 96  J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


These  thoughts  so  engaged  her  that  she  fell  into  a 
gait  hardly  likely  to  carry  her  to  church  before  the  ser- 
mon, and  at  length,  having  passed  from  the  gardens  to 
the  wood-path  beyond,  so  far  forgot  her  intention  as  to 
sink  into  a rustic  seat  at  a bend  of  the  walk.  The  spot 
was  charming,  and  Lily  was  not  insensible  to  the  charm, 
or  to  the  fact  that  her  presence  enhanced  it;  but  she  was 
not  accustomed  to  taste  the  joys  of  solitude  except  in 
company,  and  the  combination  of  a handsome  girl  and 
a romantic  scene  struck  her  as  too  good  to  be  wasted. 
No  one,  however,  appeared  to  profit  by  the  opportunity; 
and  after  a half  hour  of  fruitless  waiting  she  rose  and 
wandered  on.  She  felt  a stealing  sense  of  fatigue  as  she 
walked;  the  sparkle  had  died  out  of  her,  and  the  taste 
of  life  was  stale  on  her  lips.  She  hardly  knew  what  she 
had  been  seeking,  or  why  the  failure  to  find  it  had  so 
blotted  the  light  from  her  sky : she  was  only  aware  of  a 
vague  sense  of  failure,  of  an  inner  isolation  deeper  than 
the  loneliness  about  her. 

Her  footsteps  flagged,  and  she  stood  gazing  listlessly 
ahead,  digging  the  ferny  edge  of  the  path  with  the  tip 
of  her  sun-shade.  As  she  did  so  a step  sounded  behind 
her,  and  she  saw  Selden  at  her  side. 

“How  fast  you  walk!”  he  remarked.  “I  thought  I 
should  never  catch  up  with  you.” 

She  answered  gaily:  “You  must  be  quite  breathless! 
I ’vp  been  sitting  under  that  tree  for  an  hour.” 

[ 97  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Waiting  for  me,  I hope?”  he  rejoined;  and  she  said 
with  a vague  laugh : 

“Well — waiting  to  see  if  you  would  come.” 

“I  seize  the  distinction,  but  I don’t  mind  it,  since  do- 
ing the  one  involved  doing  the  other.  But  were  n’t  you 
sure  that  I should  come?” 

“If  I waited  long  enough — but  you  see  I had  only  a 
limited  time  to  give  to  the  experiment.” 

“Why  limited?  Limited  by  luncheon?” 

“No;  by  my  other  engagement.” 

“Your  engagement  to  go  to  church  with  Muriel  and 
Hilda?” 

“No;  but  to  come  home  from  church  with  another 
person.” 

“ Ah,  I see ; I might  have  known  you  were  fiilly  pro- 
vided w'ith  alternatives.  And  is  the  other  person  coming 
home  this  way?” 

Lily  laughed  again.  “That’s  just  what  I don’t  know; 
and  to  find  out,  it  is  my  business  to  get  to  church  before 
the  seiwice  is  over.” 

“Exactly;  and  it  is  my  business  to  prevent  your  doing 
so;  in  which  case  the  other  person,  piqued  by  your  ab- 
sence, will  form  the  desperate  resolve  of  driving  back  in 
the  omnibus.” 

Lily  received  this  with  fresh  appreciation ; his  nonsense 
was  like  the  bubbling  of  her  inner  mood.  “ Is  that  what 
you  would  do  in  such  an  emergency?”  she  enquired. 

L 98  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Selden  looked  at  her  with  solemnity.  “I  am  here  to 
prove  to  you,”  he  cried,  “what  I am  capable  of  doing  in 
an  emergency!” 

“Walking  a mile  in  an  hour — you  must  own  that  the 
omnibus  would  be  quicker!” 

“Ah — but  will  he  find  you  in  the  end?  That’s  the 
only  test  of  success.” 

They  looked  at  each  other  with  the  same  luxury  of 
I enjoyment  that  they  had  felt  in  exchanging  absurdities 
I over  his  tea-table;  but  suddenly  Lily’s  face  changed,  and 
I she  said:  “Well,  if  it  is,  he  has  succeeded.” 

! Selden,  following  her  glance,  perceived  a party  of 
I people  advancing  toward  them  from  the  farther  bend  of 
the  path.  Lady  Cressida  had  evidently  insisted  on  walk- 
j ing  home,  and  the  rest  of  the  church-goers  had  thought 
it  their  duty  to  accompany  her.  Lily’s  companion  looked 
i rapidly  from  one  to  the  other  of  the  two  men  of  the 
I party ; Wetherall  walking  respectfully  at  Lady  Cressida’s 
^side  with  his  little  sidelong  look  of  nervous  attention, 
I and  Percy  Gryce  bringing  up  the  rear  with  Mrs.  Wether- 
all and  the  Trenors. 

[ “Ah — now  I see  why  you  were  getting  up  your 
i!  Americana!”  Selden  exclaimed  with  a note  of  the  freest 
ladmiration ; but  the  blush  with  which  the  sally  was  re- 
i ceived  checked  whatever  amplifications  he  had  meant  to 
,'give  it. 

That  Lily  Bart  should  object  to  being  bantered  about 

[ 99  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


her  suitors,  or  even  about  her  means  of  attracting  them, 
was  so  new  to  Selden  that  he  had  a momentary  flash  of  sur- 
prise, which  lit  up  a number  of  possibilities ; but  she  rose 
gallantly  to  the  defence  of  her  confusion,  by  saying,  as 
its  object  approached:  “That  was  why  I was  waiting  for 
you — to  thank  you  for  having  given  me  so  many  points !” 

“Ah,  you  can  hardly  do  justice  to  the  subject  in  such 
a short  time,”  said  Selden,  as  the  Trenor  girls  caught 
sight  of  Miss  Bart;  and  while  she  signalled  a response 
to  their  boisterous  greeting,  he  added  quickly:  “Won’t 
you  devote  your  afternoon  to  it?  You  know  I must  be 
off*  tomorrow  morning.  We’ll  take  a walk,  and  you  can 
thank  me  at  your  leisure.” 


VI 


HE  afternoon  was  perfect.  A deeper  stillness  pos-  ^ 


X sessed  the  air,  and  the  glitter  of  the  American 
autumn  was  tempered  by  a haze  which  diffused  the 
brightness  mthout  dulling  it. 

In  the  woody  hollows  of  the  park  there  was  already  a 
faint  chill ; but  as  the  ground  rose  the  air  grew  lighter, 
and  ascending  the  long  slopes  beyond  the  high-road, 
Lily  and  her  companion  reached  a zone  of  lingering 
summer.  The  path  wound  across  a meadow  with  scat- 
tered trees ; then  it  dipped  into  a lane  plumed  with  as- 
ters and  purpling  sprays  of  bramble,  w'hence,  through 


[ 100  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  light  quiver  of  ash-leaves,  the  country  unrolled  it- 
self in  pastoral  distances. 

Higher  up,  the  lane  showed  thickening  tufts  of  fern 
and  of  the  creeping  glossy  verdure  of  shaded  slopes; 
trees  began  to  overhang  it,  and  the  shade  deepened  to 
the  checkei’ed  dusk  of  a beech-grove.  The  boles  of  the 
trees  stood  well  apart,  with  only  a light  feathering  of 
undergrowth;  the  path  wound  along  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  now  and  then  looking  out  on  a sunlit  pasture  or 
on  an  orchard  spangled  with  fruit. 

Lily  had  no  real  intimacy  with  nature,  but  she  had  a^ 
passion  for  the  appropriate  and  could  be  keenly  sen- 
sitive to  a scene  which  was  the  fitting  background  of 
her  own  sensations.  The  landscape  outspread  below  her 
seemed  an  enlargement  of  her  present  mood,  and  she 
found  Something  of  herself  in  its  calmness,  its  breadth, 
its  long  free  reaches.  On  the  nearer  slopes  the  sugar- 
maples  wavered  like  pyres  of  light;  lower  down  was  a 
massing  of  grey  orchards,  and  here  and  there  the  linger- 
ing green  of  an  oak-grove.  Two  or  three  red  farm-houses 
dozed  under  the  apple-trees,  and  the  white  wooden 
spire  of  a village  church  showed  beyond  the  shoulder  of 
the  hill;  while  far  below,  in  a haze  of  dust,  the  high- 
road ran  between  the  fields. 

“Let  us  sit  here,”  Selden  suggested,  as  they  reached 
an  open  ledge  of  rock  above  which  the  beeches  rose 
ste'eply  between  mossy  boulders. 

L 101  .1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lily  dropped  down  on  the  rock,  glowdng  with  her 
long  climb.  She  sat  quiet,  her  lips  parted  by  the  stress 
of  the  ascent,  her  eyes  wandering  peacefully  over  the 
broken  ranges  of  the  landscape.  Selden  stretched  him- 
self on  the  grass  at  her  feet,  tilting  his  hat  against  the 
level  sun-rays,  and  clasping  his  hands  behind  his  head, 
which  rested  against  the  side  of  the  rock.  He  had  no 
wish  to  make  her  talk ; her  quick-breathing  silence  seemed 
a pai’t  of  the  general  hush  and  harmony  of  things.  In 
his  own  mind  there  was  only  a lazy  sense  of  pleasure,  ' 
veiling  the  sharp  edges  of  sensation  as  the  September  ' 
haze  veiled  the  scene  at  their  feet.  But  Lily,  though  her 
attitude  was  as  calm  as  his,  was  throbbing  inwardly  with 
a rush  of  thoughts.  There  were  in  her  at  the  moment  , 
two  beings,  one  drawing  deep  breaths  of  freedom  and 
exhilaration,  the  other  gasping  for  air  in  a little  black 
prison-house  of  fears.  But  gradually  the  captive’s  gasps 
grew  fainter,  or  the  other  paid  less  heed  to  them:  the 
horizon  expanded,  the  air  grew  stronger,  and  the  free 
spirit  quivered  for  flight. 

She  could  not  herself  have  explained  the  sense  of  buoy- 
ancy which  seemed  to  lift  and  swing  her  above  the  sun- 
suffused  world  at  her  feet.  Was  it  love,  she  wondered,  or 
a mere  fortuitous  combination  of  happy  thoughts  and 
sensations?  How  much  of  it  was  omng  to  the  spell  of 
the  perfect  afternoon,  the  scent  of  the  fading  woods,  the 
thought  of  the  dulness  she  had  fled  from?  Lily  had  nj» 

[ 102  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

definite  experience  by  which  to  test  the  quality  of  her 
feelings.  She  had  several  times  been  in  love  with  for- 
tunes or  careers,  but  only  once  with  a man.  That  was 
years  ago,  when  she  first  came  out,  and  had  been  smitten 
with  a romantic  passion  for  a young  gentleman  named 
Herbert  Melson,  who  had  blue  eyes  and  a little  wave  in 
his  hair.  Mr.  Melson,  who  was  possessed  of  no  other  ne- 
gotiable securities,  had  hastened  to  employ  these  in  cap- 
turing the  eldest  Miss  Van  Osburgh : since  then  he  had 
grown  stout  and  wheezy,  and  was  given  to  telling  anec- 
dotes about  his  children.  If  Lily  recalled  this  early  emo- 
tion it  was  not  to  compare  it  with  that  which  now  pos- 
sessed her;  the  only  point  of  comparison  was  the  sense  of 
lightness,  of  emancipation,  which  she  remembered  feel- 
ing, in  the  whirl  of  a waltz  or  the  seclusion  of  a conser- 
vatory, during  the  brief  course  of  her  youthful  romance. 
She  had  not  known  again  till  today  that  lightness,  that 
glow  of  freedom ; but  now  it  was  something  more  than  a 
blind  groping  of  the  blood.  The  peculiar  charm  of  her 
feeling  for  Selden  was  that  she  understood  it;  she  could 
put  her  finger  on  every  link  of  the  chain  that  was  draw- 
! ing  them  together.  Though  his  popularity  was  of  the 
! quiet  kind,  felt  rather  than  actively  expressed  among  his 
friends,  she  had  never  mistaken  his  inconspicuousness 
for  obscurity.  His  reputed  cultivation  was  generally  re- 
garded as  a slight  obstacle  to  easy  intercourse,  but  Lily, 
who  prided  herself  on  her  broad-minded  recognition  of 
[ 103  ] 


I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


literature,  and  always  carried  an  Omar  Khayam  in  her 
travelling-bag,  was  attracted  by  this  attribute,  which 
she  felt  would  have  had  its  distinction  in  an  older  soci- 
ety. It  was,  moreover,  one  of  his  gifts  to  look  his  part; 
to  have  a height  which  lifted  his  head  above  the  crowd, 
and  the  keenly-modelled  dark  features  which,  in  a land 
of  amorphous  types,  gave  him  the  air  of  belonging  to  a 
more  specialized  race,  of  carrying  the  impress  of  a con- 
centrated past.  Expansive  persons  found  him  a little  drv, 
and  very  young  girls  thought  him  sarcastic ; but  this  air 
of  friendly  aloofness,  as  far  removed  as  possible  from  any 
assertion  of  personal  advantage,  was  the  quality  which 
piqued  Lily’s  interest.  Everything  about  him  accorded 
with  the  fastidious  element  in  her  taste,  even  to  the  light 
irony  with  which  he  surveyed  what  seemed  to  her  most 
sacred.  She  admired  him  most  of  all,  perhaps,  for  being 
able  to  convey  as  distinct  a sense  of  superiority  as  the 
richest  man  she  had  ever  met. 

It  was  the  unconscious  prolongation  of  this  thought 
which  led  her  to  say  presently,  with  a laugh:  “I  have 
broken  two  engagements  for  you  today.  How  many  have 
you  broken  for  me?” 

“None,”  said  Selden  calmly.  “My  only  engagement  at 
Bellomont  was  with  you.” 

She  glanced  down  at  him,  faintly  smiling. 

“Did  you  really  come  to  Bellomont  to  see  me?” 

“Of  course  I did.” 


[ 104<  ] 


xHE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Her  look  deepened  meditatively.  “Why.?”  she  mur* 
mured,  with  an  accent  which  took  all  tinge  of  coquetry 
from  the  question. 

“Because  you’re  such  a wonderful  spectacle:  I always 
like  to  see  what  you  are  doing.” 

“How  do  you  know  what  I should  be  doing  if  you 
were  not  here.?” 

Selden  smiled.  “I  don’t  flatter  myself  that  my  coming 
has  deflected  your  course  of  action  by  a hair’s  breadth.” 

“That ’s  absurd — since,  if  you  were  not  here,  I could 
obviously  not  be  taking  a walk  with  you.” 

“No;  but  your  taking  a walk  with  me  is  only  another 
way  of  making  use  of  your  material.  You  are  an  artist 
and  I happen  to  be  the  bit  of  colour  you  are  using  to- 
day. It ’s  a part  of  your  cleverness  to  be  able  to  produce 
premeditated  effects  extemporaneously.” 

Lily  smiled  also:  his  words  were  too  acute  not  to 
strike  her  sense  of  humour.  It  was  true  that  she  meant 
to  use  the  accident  of  his  presence  as  part  of  a very  de- 
finite effect;  or  that,  at  least,  was  the  secret  pretext  she 
' had  found  for  breaking  her  promise  to  walk  with  Mr. 

' Gryce.  She  had  sometimes  been  accused  of  being  too 
eager — even  Judy  Trenor  had  warned  her  to  go  slowly. 
Well,  she  would  not  be  too  eager  in  this  case;  she  would 
i give  her  suitor  a longer  taste  of  suspense.  WHbere  duty 
. and  inclination  jumped  together,  it  was  not  in  Lily’s 
I!  nature  to  hold  them  asunder.  She  had  excused  herself 

[ los  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


from  the  walk  on  the  plea  of  a headache:  the  horrid 
headache  which,  in  the  morning,  had  prevented  her  ven- 
turing to  church.  Her  appearance  at  luncheon  justified 
the  excuse.  She  looked  languid,  full  of  a suffering  sweet- 
ness; she  carried  a scent-bottle  in  her  hand.  Mr.  Gryce 
was  new  to  such  manifestations;  he  wondered  rather 
nervously  if  she  were  delicate,  having  far-reaching  fears 
about  the  future  of  his  progeny.  But  sympathy  won  the 
day,  and  he  besought  her  not  to  expose  herself:  he  al- 
ways connected  the  outer  air  with  ideas  of  exposure. 

Lily  had  received  his  sympathy  with  languid  grati- 
tude, urging  him,  since  she  should  be  such  poor  company, 
to  join  the  rest  of  the  party  who,  after  luncheon,  were 
starting  in  automobiles  on  a visit  to  the  Van  Osburghs 
at  Peekskill.  Mr.  Gryce  was  touched  by  her  disinterest- 
edness, and,  to  escape  from  the  threatened  vacuity  of  the 
afternoon,  had  taken  her  advice  and  departed  mourn- 
fully, in  a dust-hood  and  goggles:  as  the  motor-car 
plunged  down  the  avenue  she  smiled  at  his  resemblance 
to  a baffled  beetle. 

Selden  had  watched  her  manoeuvres  with  lazy  amuse- 
ment. She  had  made  no  reply  to  his  suggestion  that  they 
should  spend  the  afternoon  together,  but  as  her  plan  un- 
folded itself  he  felt  fairly  confident  of  being  included  in 
it.  The  house  was  empty  when  at  length  he  heard  her 
step  on  the  staii*  and  strolled  out  of  the  billiard-room  to 
join  her.  She  had  on  a hat  and  walking-dress,  and  the 
[ 106  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


dogs  were  bounding  at  her  feet. 

“I  thought,  after  all,  the  air  might  do  me  good,”  she 
explained;  and  he  agreed  that  so  simple  a remedy  was 
worth  trying. 

The  excursionists  would  be  gone  at  least  four  hours; 
Lily  and  Selden  had  the  whole  afternoon  before  them, 
and  the  sense  of  leisure  and  safety  gave  the  last  touch  of 
lightness  to  her  spirit.  With  so  much  time  to  talk,  and 
no  definite  object  to  be  led  up  to,  she  could  taste  the 
rare  joys  of  mental  vagrancy. 

She  felt  so  free  from  ulterior  motives  that  she  took  up 
his  charge  with  a touch  of  resentment. 

“I  don’t  know,”  she  said,  “why  you  are  always  accus- 
ing me  of  premeditation.” 

“I  thought  you  confessed  to  it:  you  told  me  the  other 
day  that  you  had  to  follow  a certain  line — and  if  one 
does  a thing  at  all  it  is  a merit  to  do  it  thoroughly.” 

“If  you  mean  that  a girl  who  has  no  one  to  think  for 
her  is  obliged  to  think  for  herself,  I am  quite  willing  to  ac- 
cept the  imputation.  But  you  must  find  me  a dismal  kind 
of  person  if  you  suppose  that  I never  yield  to  an  impulse.” 

“Ah,  but  I don’t  suppose  that : have  n’t  I told  you  tha'T) 
your  genius  lies  in  converting  impulses  into  intentions?”.^ 

“My  genius?”  she  echoed  with  a sudden  note  of  weari- 
ness. “Is  there  any  final  test  of  genius  but  success?  And 
I “ertainly  have  n’t  succeeded.” 

Selden  pushed  his  hat  back  and  took  a side-glance  at 

[ 107  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OP  MIRTH 

her.  “Success — what  is  success?  I shall  be  interested  tc 
have  your  definition.” 

“Success?”  She  hesitated.  “Why,  to  get  as  much  as 
one  can  out  of  life,  I suppose.  It’s  a relative  quality, 
after  all.  Is  n’t  that  your  idea  of  it.*’” 

“My  idea  of  it?  God  forbid!”  He  sat  up  with  sudden 
energy,  resting  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and  staring  out 
upon  the  mellow  fields,  “My  idea  of  success,”  he  said,  “is 
personal  freedom.” 

“Fseedom?  Freedom  from  worries?” 

“From  everything — from  money,  from  poverty,  from 
ease  and  anxiety,  from  all  the  material  accidents.  To 
keep  a kind  of  republic  of  the  spirit — that ’s  what  I call 
success.” 

She  leaned  forward  with  a responsive  flash,  “I  know — 
I know — it’s  strange;  but  that’s  just  what  I’ve  been 
feeling  today.” 

He  met  her  eyes  with  the  latent  sweetness  of  his.  “Is 
the  feeling  so  rare  with  you?”  he  said. 

She  blushed  a little  under  his  gaze.  “You  think  me 
horribly  sordid,  don’t  you?  But  perhaps  it’s  rather  that 
I never  had  any  choice.  There  was  no  one,  I mean,  to  teU 
me  about  the  republic  of  the  spirit.” 

“There  never  is — it’s  a country  one  has  to  find  the 
way  to  one’s  self.” 

“But  I should  never  have  found  my  way  there  if  you 
hadn’t  told  roe.” 


[ 108  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Ah,  there  are  sign-posts — but  one  has  to  know  how 
to  read  them.” 

“Well,  I have  known,  I have  known!”  she  cried  with 
a glow  of  eagerness.  “Whenever  I see  you,  I find  myself 
spelling  out  a letter  of  the  sign — and  yesterday — last 
evening  at  dinner — I suddenly  saw  a little  way  into 
your  republic.” 

Selden  was  still  looking  at  her,  but  with  a changed 
eye.  Hitherto  he  had  found,  in  her  presence  and  her  talk, 
the  aesthetic  amusement  which  a reflective  man  is  apt  to 
seek  in  desultory  intercourse  with  pretty  women.  His 
attitude  had  been  one  of  admiring  spectatorship,  and  he 
would  have  been  almost  sorry  to  detect  in  her  any  emo- 
tional weakness  which  should  interfere  with  the  fulfil- 
ment of  her  aims.  But  now  the  hint  of  this  weakness  had 
become  the  most  interesting  thing  about  her.  He  had 
come  on  her  that  morning  in  a moment  of  disarray;  her 
face  had  been  pale  and  altered,  and  the  diminution  of 
her  beauty  had  lent  her  a poignant  charm.  That  is  hoz^' 
she  looks  when  she  is  alone!  had  been  his  first  thought; 
and  the  second  was  to  note  in  her  the  change  which  his 
coming  produced.  It  was  the  danger-point  of  their  inter- 
course that  he  could  not  doubt  the  spontaneity  of  her 
liking.  From  whatever  angle  he  viewed  their  dawning 
intimacy,  he  could  not  see  it  as  part  of  her  scheme  of 
life;  and  to  be  the  unforeseen  element  in  a career  so  ac- 
cmately  planned  was  stimulating  even  to  a man  who 

[ 109  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


haa  renounced  sentimental  experiments. 

“Well,”  he  said,  “did  it  make  you  want  to  see  more? 
Are  you  going  to  become  one  of  us?” 

He  had  drawn  out  his  cigarettes  as  he  spoke,  and  she 
reached  her  hand  toward  the  case. 

“Oh,  do  give  me  one — I haven’t  smoked  for  days!” 

“Why  such  unnatural  abstinence?  Everybody  smokes 
at  Bellomont.” 

“Yes — but  it  is  not  considered  becoming  in  a.jeunt 
fille  a marler;  and  at  the  present  moment  I am  a.jeunt 
fille  d marwr^ 

“Ah,  then  I’m  afraid  we  can’t  let  you  into  the  re- 
public.” 

“"Why  not?  Is  it  a celibate  order?” 

“Not  in  the  least,  though  I’m  bound  to  say  there  are 
not  many  married  people  in  it.  But  you  will  marry  some 
one  very  rich,  and  it ’s  as  hard  for  rich  people  to  get  into 
as  the  kingdom  of  heaven.” 

“Tliat’s  unjust,  I think,  because,  as  I understand  it, 
of  the  conditions  of  citizenship  is  not  to  think  too 
much  about  money,  and  the  only  way  not  to  think  about 
money  is  to  have  a great  deal  of  it.” 

“You  might  as  well  say  that  the  only  way  not  to 
think  about  air  is  to  have  enough  to  breathe.  That  is  true 
enough  in  a sense;  but  yom*  lungs  are  thinking  about 
the  air,  if  you  are  not.  And  so  it  is  with  your  rich  peo- 
ple— they  may  not  be  thinking  of  money,  but  they’re 
[ 110  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


breathing  it  all  the  while;  take  them  into  another  ele« 
ment  and  see  how  they  squirm  and  gasp!” 

Lily  sat  gazing  absently  through  the  blue  riiigs  of  her 
cigarette-smoke. 

“It  seems  to  me,”  she  said  at  length,  “that  you  spend 
a good  deal  of  your  time  in  the  element  you  dis?  »^T)rove 
of.” 

Selden  received  this  thrust  without  discomposure. 
“Yes;  but  I have  tried  to  remain  amphibious:  it’s  all 
right  as  long  as  one’s  lungs  can  work  in  another  air. 
The  real  alchemy  consists  in  being  able  to  turn  gold  back 
again  into  something  else;  and  that’s  the  secret  that 
most  of  your  friends  have  lost.” 

Lily  mused.  “Don’t  you  think,”  she  rejoined  after  a 
moment,  “that  the  people  who  find  fault  with  society 
are  too  apt  to  regard  it  as  an_end  and  not  a means,  just 
as  the  people  who  despise  money  speak  as  if  its  only  use 
were  to  be  kept  in  bags  and  gloated  over?  Isn’t  it  fairer 
to  look  at  them  both  as  opportunities,  which  may  be 
used  either  stupidly  or  intelligently,  according  to  the 
capacity  of  the  user?” 

“That  is  certainly  the  sane  view;  but  the  queer  thing 
about  society  is  that  the  people  who  regard  it  as  an  end 
are  those  who  are  in  it,  and  not  the  critics  on  the  fence. 
It’s  just  the  other  way  with  most  shows — the  audience 
may  be  under  the  illusion,  but  the  actors  know  that  real 
life  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  footlights.  The  people  who 

r 111  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


take  society  as  an  escape  from  work  are  putting  it  to  its 
proper  use;  but  when  it  becomes  the  thing  worked  for  it 
distorts  all  the  relations  of  life  ” Selden  raised  himself 
on  his  elbow.  “Good  heavens  1”  he  went  on,  “I  don’t 
underrate  the  decorative  side  of  life.  It  seems  to  me  the 
sense  of  splendour  has  justified  itself  by  what  it  has 
produced.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  so  much  human  nature 
is  used  up  in  the  process.  If  we’re  aU  the  raw  stuff  of 
the  cosmic  effects,  one  would  rather  be  the  fire  that 
tempers  a sword  than  the  fish  that  dyes  a purple  cloak. 
And  a society  like  ours  wastes  such  good  material  in 
producing  its  little  patch  of  purple!  Look  at  a boy  like 
Ned  Silverton — he’s  really  too  good  to  be  used  to  re^ 
furbish  anybody’s  social  shabbiness.  There’s  a lad  just 
setting  out  to  discover  the  universe  is  n’t  it  a pity  he 
should  end  by  finding  it  in  j\Irs.  Fisher’s  drawing-room  ?” 

“Ned  is  a dear  boy,  and  I hope  he  will  keep  his  illu- 
sions long  enough  to  write  some  nice  poetr}'  about  them; 
but  do  you  think  it  is  only  in  society  that  he  is  likely 
to  lose  them?” 

Selden  answered  her  with  a shrug.  “Why  do  we  call  all 
our  generous  ideas  illusions,  and  the  mean  ones  truths? 
Is  n’t  it  a sufficient  condemnation  of  society  to  find  one’s 
self  accepting  such  phraseology  ? I very  nearly  acquired 
the  jargon  at  Silveidon’s  age,  and  I know  how  names 
can  alter  the  colour  of  beliefs.” 

She  had  never  heard  him  speak  with  such  energy  of 

L 112  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

affirmation.  His  habitual  touch  was  that  of  the  eclectk 
who  lightly  turns  over  and  compares;  and  she  was  moved 
by  this  sudden  glimpse  into  the  laboratory  where  his 
faiths  were  formed. 

“Ah,  you  are  as  bad  as  the  other  sectarians,”  she  ex 
claimed;  “why  do  you  call  your  republic  a republic?  It 
is  a close  corporation,  and  you  create  arbitrary  objec. 
tions  in  order  to  keep  people  out.” 

“It  is  not  my  republic;  if  it  were,  1 should  have  & 
coup  diktat  and  seat  you  on  the  throne.” 

“Whereas,  in  reality,  you  think  I can  never  even  get 
my  foot  across  the  threshold?  Oh,  I understand  what 
you  mean.  You  despise  my  ambitions — you  think  them  \ 
unworthy  of  me!” 

Selden  smiled,  but  not  ironically.  “Well,  isn’t  that  a 
tribute?  I think  them  quite  worthy  of  most  of  the  peo- 
ple who  live  by  them.” 

She  had  turned  to  gaze  on  him  gravely.  “But  isn’t  il^ 
possible  that,  if  I had  the  opportunities  of  these  people, 

I might  make  a better  use  of  them?  Money  stands  for^ 
all  kinds  of  things — its  purchasing  quality  isn’t  limited 
to  diamonds  and  motor-cars,” 

“Not  in  the  least;  you  might  expiate  your  enjoyment 
of  them  by  founding  a hospital.” 

“But  if  you  think  they  are  what  I should  really  enjoy, 
you  must  think  my  ambitions  are  good  enough  for  me.’’ 

Selden  met  this  appeal  with  a laugh.  “Ah,  my  deal 

I 113  J 


THE  HOUSE  OE  MIRTH 


Miss  Bart,  I am  not  divine  Providence,  to  guarantee  your 
enjoying  the  things  you  are  trying  to  get!” 

“Then  the  best  you  can  say  for  me  is,  that  after  strug- 
gling to  get  them  I probably  shan’t  like  them?”  She 
drew  a deep  breath.  “What  a miserable  future  you  fore- 
see for  me!” 

“Well — have  you  never  foreseen  it  for  yourself?” 

The  slow  colour  rose  to  her  cheek,  not  a blush  of  ex- 
citement but  drawn  from  the  deep  wells  of  feeling;  it 
was  as  if  the  effort  of  her  spirit  had  produced  it. 

“Often  and  often,”  she  said.  “But  it  looks  so  much 
darker  when  you  show  it  to  me!” 

He  made  no  answer  to  this  exclamation,  and  for  a 
while  they  sat  silent,  while  something  throbbed  between 
them  in  the  wide  quiet  of  the  air.  But  suddenly  she  ' 
turned  on  him  with  a kind  of  vehemence. 

“WTiy  do  you  do  this  to  me?”  she  cried.  “MTiy  do 
you  make  the  things  I have  chosen  seem  hateful  to  me, 
if  you  have  nothing  to  give  me  instead?” 

The  words  roused  Selden  from  the  musing  fit  into 
which  he  had  fallen.  He  himself  did  not  know  why  he  j 
had  led  their  talk  along  such  lines;  it  was  the  last  use  j 
he  would  have  imagined  himself  making  of  an  afternoon’s  j 
solitude  with  Miss  Bart.  But  it  was  one  of  those  mo- 
ments when  neither  seemed  to  speak  deliberately,  w'hen 
an  indwelling  voice  in  each  called  to  the  other  across 
unsounded  depths  of  feeling. 

[ lU  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“No,  I have  nothing  to  give  you  instead,”  he  said, 
sitting  up  and  turning  so  that  he  faced  her.  “ If  I had, 
it  should  be  yours,  you  know.” 

She  received  this  abrupt  declaration  in  a way  even 
stranger  than  the  manner  of  its  making : she  dropped  her 
face  on  her  hands  and  he  saw  that  for  a moment  she  wept. 

It  was  for  a moment  only,  however;  for  when  he  leaned 
nearer  and  drew  down  her  hands  with  a gesture  less 
passionate  than  grave,  she  turned  on  him  a face  softened 
but  not  disfigured  by  emotion,  and  he  said  to  himself, 
somewhat  cruelly,  that  even  her  weeping  was  an  art. 

The  reflection  steadied  his  voice  as  he  asked,  between 
pity  and  irony : “ Is  n’t  it  natural  that  I should  try  to 
belittle  all  the  things  I can’t  offer  you.?” 

Her  face  brightened  at  this,  but  she  drew  her  hand 
away,  not  with  a gesture  of  coquetry,  but  as  though  re- 
nouncing something  to  which  she  had  no  claim. 

“ But  you  belittle  me,  don’t  you,”  she  returned  gently, 
“in  being  so  sure  they  are  the  only  things  I care  for.?” 

Selden  felt  an  inner  start ; but  it  was  only  the  last 
quiver  of  his  egoism.  Almost  at  once  he  answered  quite 
simply:  “But  you  do  care  for  them,  don’t  you.?  And  no 
wishing  of  mine  can  alter  that.” 

He  had  so  completely  ceased  to  consider  how  far  this 
might  carry  him,  that  he  had  a distinct  sense  of  disap- 
' pointment  when  she  turned  on  him  a face  sparkling  with 
1 derision. 


[ 116  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Ah,”  she  cried,  “ for  all  your  fine  phrases  you’re 
really  as  great  a coward  as  I am,  for  you  would  n’t  have 
made  one  of  them  if  you  had  n’t  been  so  sure  of  my 
answer.” 

The  shock  of  this  retort  had  the  effect  of  crystalliz- 
ing Selden’s  wavering  intentions. 

“I  am  not  so  sure  of  your  answer,”  he  said  quietly. 
“And  I do  you  the  justice  to  believe  that  you  are  not 
either.” 

It  was  her  turn  to  look  at  him  with  sui'prise;  and 
after  a moment — “Do  you  want  to  marry  me?”  she 
asked. 

He  broke  into  a laugh.  “No,  I don’t  want  to — but 
perhaps  I should  if  you  did!” 

“That’s  what  I told  you — you’re  so  sure  of  me  that 
you  can  amuse  yourself  with  experiments.”  She  drew 
back  the  hand  he  had  regained,  and  sat  looking  down 
on  him  sadly. 

“I  am  not  making  experiments,”  he  returned.  “Or  if 
I am,  it  is  not  on  you  but  on  myself.  I don’t  know  what 
effect  they  are  going  to  have  on  me — but  if  manying 
you  is  one  of  them,  I will  take  the  risk.” 

She  smiled  faintly.  “It  would  be  a great  risk,  cer- 
tainly— I have  never  concealed  from  you  how  great.” 

“Ah,  it’s  you  who  are  the  coward!”  he  exclaimed. 

She  had  risen,  and  he  stood  facing  her  with  his  eyes 
on  hers.  The  soft  isolation  of  the  falling  day  enveloped 

[116J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


them:  they  seemed  lifted  into  a finer  air.  All  the  ex- 
quisite influences  of  the  hour  trembled  in  their  veins, 
and  drew  them  to  each  other  as  the  loosened  leaves 
were  drawn  to  the  earth. 

“It’s  you  who  are  the  coward,”  he  repeated,  catch- 
ing her  hands  in  his. 

She  leaned  on  him  for  a moment,  as  if  with  a drop 
of  tired  wings : he  felt  as  though  her  heart  were  beating 
rather  with  the  stress  of  a long  flight  than  the  thrill  of 
new  distances.  Then,  drawing  back  with  a little  smile  of 
warning — “I  shall  look  hideous  in  dowdy  clothes;  but 
I can  trim  my  own  hats,”  she  declared. 

They  stood  silent  for  a while  after  this,  smiling  at 
each  other  like  adventurous  children  who  have  climbed 
to  a forbidden  height  from  which  they  discover  a new 
world.  The  actual  world  at  their  feet  was  veiling  itself 
in  dimness,  and  across  the  valley  a clear  moon  rose  in 
the  denser  blue. 

Suddenly  they  heard  a remote  sound,  like  the  hum  of 
a giant  insect,  and  following  the  high-road,  which  wound 
whiter  through  the  surrounding  twilight,  a black  object 
rushed  across  their  vision. 

Lily  started  from  her  attitude  of  absorption;  her  smile 
faded  and  she  began  to  move  toward  the  lane. 

“I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late!  We  shall  not  be  back 
till  after  dark,”  she  said,  almost  impatiently. 

Selden  was  looking  at  her  with  surprise : it  took  him 

f 117  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


a moment  to  regain  his  usual  view  of  her ; then  he  said^ 
with  an  uncontrollable  note  of  dryness ; “ That  was  not 
one  of  our  party;  the  motor  was  going  the  other  way.” 

“I  know — I know ” She  paused,  and  he  saw  her 

redden  through  the  twilight.  “But  I told  them  I was 
not  well — that  I should  not  go  out.  Let  us  go  dowm!” 
she  murmured. 

Selden  continued  to  look  at  her;  then  he  drew  his 
cigarette-case  from  his  pocket  and  slowly  lit  a cigarette. 
It  seemed  to  him  necessary,  at  that  moment,  to  proclaim, 
by  some  habitual  gesture  of  this  sort,  his  recovered  hold 
on  the  actual : he  had  an  almost  puerile  wish  to  let  his 
companion  see  that,  their  flight  over,  he  had  landed  on 
his  feet. 

She  waited  while  the  spark  flickered  under  his  curved 
palm;  then  he  held  out  the  cigarettes  to  her. 

She  took  one  with  an  unsteady  hand,  and  putting  it 
to  her  lips,  leaned  forward  to  draw  her  light  from  his. 
In  the  indistinctness  the  little  red  gleam  lit  up  the 
lower  part  of  her  face,  and  he  saw  her  mouth  tremble 
into  a smile. 

“Were  you  serious?”  she  asked,  with  an  odd  thrill  of 
gaiety  which  she  might  have  caught  up,  in  haste,  from 
a heap  of  stock  inflections,  Avithout  having  time  to  select 
the  just  note. 

Selden’s  voice  was  under  better  controL  “Why  not?* 
be  returned.  “You  see  I took  no  risks  in  being  so.”  And 
[ 118  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


as  she  continued  to  stand  before  him,  a little  pale  undel 
the  retort,  he  added  quickly:  “Let  us  go  down.” 

VII 

IT  spoke  much  for  the  depth  of  Mrs.  Trenor’s  friend^ 
ship  that  her  voice,  in  admonishing  Miss  Bart,  took 
the  same  note  of  personal  despair  as  if  she  had  been 
lamenting  the  collapse  of  a house-party. 

“All  I can  say  is,  Lily,  that  I can’t  make  you  out!” 
She  leaned  back,  sighing,  in  the  morning  abandon  of 
lace  and  muslin,  turning  an  indifferent  shoulder  to  the 
heaped-up  importunities  of  her  desk,  while  she  consid- 
ered, with  the  eye  of  a physician  who  has  given  up  the 
case,  the  erect  exterior  of  the  patient  confronting  her. 

“If  you  hadn’t  told  me  you  were  going  in  for  him 
seriously — but  I’m  sure  you  made  that  plain  enough 
from  the  beginning!  Why  else  did  you  ask  me  to  let 
you  off  bridge,  and  to  keep  away  Carry  and  Kate  Coi’by  ? 
I don’t  suppose  you  did  it  because  he  amused  you;  we 
could  none  of  us  imagine  your  putting  up  with  him  for 
a moment  unless  you  meant  to  marry  him.  And  I’m 
sure  everybody  played  fair!  They  all  wanted  to  help  it 
along.  Even  Bertha  kept  her  hands  off — I will  say  that 
— till  Lawrence  came  down  and  you  dragged  him  away 
from  her.  After  that  she  had  a right  to  retaliate — why 
on  earth  did  you  interfere  with  her?  You’ve  known 

[ 119] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lawrence  Selden  for  years — why  did  you  behave  as  if 
you  had  just  discovered  him?  If  you  had  a grudge 
against  Bertha  it  was  a stupid  time  to  show  it — you 
could  have  paid  her  back  just  as  well  after  you  were 
married ! I told  you  Bertha  was  dangerous.  She  was  in  an 
odious  mood  when  she  came  here,  but  Lawrence’s  turn- 
ing up  put  her  in  a good  humour,  and  if  you ’d  only  let 
her  think  he  came  for  her  it  would  have  never  occurred 
to  her  to  play  you  this  trick.  Oh,  Lily,  you  ’ll  never  do 
anything  if  you’re  not  serious!” 

Miss  Bart  accepted  this  exhortation  in  a spirit  of  the 
purest  impartiality.  \Vhy  should  she  have  been  angry? 
It  was  the  voice  of  her  own  conscience  which  spoke  to  hei 
through  Mrs.  Trenor’s  reproachful  accents.  But  even  to  hex 
own  conscience  she  must  trump  up  a semblance  of  defence 

“I  only  took  a day  off — I thought  he  meant  to  stay 
on  all  this  week,  and  I knew  Mr.  Selden  was  leaving 
this  morning.” 

Ml'S.  Trenor  brushed  aside  the  plea  with  a gesture 
which  laid  bare  its  weakness. 

“He  did  mean  to  stay — that’s  the  worst  of  it.  It 
shows  that  he ’s  run  away  from  you ; that  Bertha ’s  done 
her  work  and  poisoned  him  thoroughly.” 

Lily  gave  a slight  laugh.  “ Oh,  if  he ’s  running  I ’ll 
overtake  him!” 

Her  friend  threw  out  an  arresting  hand.  “WTiat- 
ever  you  do,  Lily,  do  nothing!” 

[ 120  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Miss  Bart  received  the  warning  with  a smile,  “I  don’t 
mean,  literally,  to  take  the  next  train.  There  are  ways 
” But  she  did  not  go  on  to  specify  them. 

Mrs.  Trenor  shai*ply  connected  the  tense.  “There  were 
ways — plenty  of  them!  I didn’t  suppose  you  needed  to 
have  them  pointed  out.  But  don’t  deceive  yourself — 
he ’s  thoroughly  frightened.  He  has  run  straight  home 
to  his  mother,  and  she’U  protect  him!” 

“Oh,  to  the  death,”  Lily  agreed,  dimpling  at  the 
vision. 

“How  you  can  laugh ” her  friend  rebuked  her; 

and  she  dropped  back  to  a soberer  perception  of  things 
with  the  question:  “What  was  it  Bertha  really  told 
him?” 

“Don’t  ask  me — horrors!  She  seemed  to  have  raked 
up  everything.  Oh,  you  know  what  I mean — of  course 
there  is  n’t  anything,  really;  but  I suppose  she  bi’ought 
in  Prince  Varigliano — and  Lord  Hubert — and  there 
was  some  story  of  your  having  borrowed  money  of  old 
Ned  Van  Alstyne:  did  you  ever?” 

“He  is  my  father’s  cousin,”  Miss  Bart  interposed. 

“Well,  of  course  she  left  that  out.  It  seems  Ned  told 
CaiTy  Fisher;  and  she  told  Bertha,  naturally.  They’re 
all  alike,  you  know:  they  hold  their  tongues  for  years, 

I and  you  think  you  ’re  safe,  but  when  their  opportunity 
I comes  they  remember  everything.” 

Lily  had  grown  pale : her  voice  had  a harsh  note  in  it, 
[ 121  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


‘■'It  was  some  money  I lost  at  bridge  at  the  Van  Os- 
burghs’.  I repaid  it,  of  course.” 

“Ah,  well,  they  wouldn’t  remember  that;  besides,  it 
was  the  idea  of  the  gambling  debt  that  frightened  Percy. 
Oh,  Bertha  knew  her  man — she  knew  just  what  to  teU 
him!” 

In  this  strain  Mrs.  Trenor  continued  for  nearly  an 
hour  to  admonish  her  friend.  Miss  Bart  listened  with 
admirable  equanimity.  Her  naturally  good  temper  had 
been  disciplined  by  years  of  enforced  compliance,  since 
she  had  almost  always  had  to  attain  her  ends  by  the  cir- 
cuitous path  of  other  people’s;  and,  being  naturally  in- 
clined to  face  unpleasant  facts  as  soon  as  they  presented 
themselves,  she  was  not  soiTy  to  hear  an  impartial  state- 
ment of  what  her  folly  was  likely  to  cost,  the  more  so  as 
her  own  thoughts  were  stiU  insisting  on  the  other  side  of 
the  case.  Presented  in  the  light  of  Mrs.  Trenor’s  \'igor- 
ous  comments,  the  reckoning  was  certainly  a formidable 
one,  and  Lily,  as  she  listened,  found  herself  gradually 
reverting  to  her  friend’s  view  of  the  situation.  Mrs.  Tre- 
nor's  words  were  moreover  emphasized  for  her  hearer  by 
anxieties  which  she  herself  could  scarcely  guess.  Afflu- 
ence, unless  stimulated  by  a keen  imagination,  forms  but 
the  vaguest  notion  of  the  practical  strain  of  poverty. 
Judy  knew  it  must  be  “horrid”  for  poor  Lily  to  have  to 
stop  to  consider  whether  she  could  afford  real  lace  on 
her  petticoats,  and  not  to  have  a motor-car  and  a steam- 
( 122  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


yacht  at  her  orders;  but  the  daily  friction  of  unpaid  billss 
the  daily  nibble  of  small  temptations  to  expenditure;, 
were  trials  as  far  out  of  her  experience  as  the  domestic 
problems  of  the  char-woman.  Mrs.  Trenor’s  unconscious- 
ness of  the  real  stress  of  the  situation  had  the  effect  of 
making  it  more  galling  to  Lily.  While  her  friend  re- 
proached her  for  missing  the  opportunity  to  eclipse  her 
rivals,  she  was  once  more  battling  in  imagination  with 
the  mounting  tide  of  indebtedness  from  which  she  had 
so  nearly  escaped.  What  wind  of  folly  had  driven  her 
out  again  on  those  dark  seas.? 

If  anything  was  needed  to  put  the  last  touch  to  her 
self-abasement  it  was  the  sense  of  the  way  her  old  life 
was  opening  its  ruts  again  to  receive  her.  Yesterday 
her  fancy  had  fluttered  free  pinions  above  a choice  of 
occupations;  now  she  had  to  drop  to  the  level  of  the 
familiar  routine,  in  which  moments  of  seeming  brilliancy 
and  freedom  alternated  with  long  hours  of  subjec- 
tion. 

She  laid  a deprecating  hand  on  her  friend’s.  “Dear 
Judy ! I ’m  sorry  to  have  been  such  a bore,  and  you  are 
very  good  to  me.  But  you  must  have  some  letters  for  me 
to  answer — let  me  at  least  be  useful.” 

She  settled  herself  at  the  desk,  and  Mrs.  Trenor  ac- 
cepted her  resumption  of  the  moming’s  task  with  a sigh 
which  implied  that,  after  all,  she  had  proved  herself  im- 
j fit  for  higher  uses. 


[ 123  } 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


The  luncheon  table  showed  a depleted  circle.  All  the 
men  but  Jack  Stepney  and  Dorset  had  returned  to  towm 
(it  seemed  to  Lily  a last  touch  of  irony  that  Selden 
and  Percy  Gryce  should  have  gone  in  the  same  train), 
and  Lady  Cressida  and  the  attendant  Wetheralls  had 
been  despatched  by  motor  to  lunch  at  a distant  country- 
house.  At  such  moments  of  diminished  interest  it  was 
usual  for  Mrs.  Dorset  to  keep  her  room  till  the  after- 
noon ; but  on  this  occasion  she  drifted  in  when  luncheon 
was  half  over,  hoUowed-eyed  and  drooping,  but  \vith  an 
edge  of  malice  under  her  indifference. 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  as  she  looked  about  the  table. 
“How  few  of  us  are  left!  I do  so  enjoy  the  quiet — don’t 
you,  Lily.P  I wish  the  men  would  always  stop  away — it’s 
really  much  nicer  without  them.  Oh,  you  don’t  count, 
George : one  does  n’t  have  to  talk  to  one’s  husband.  But 
I thought  Mr.  Gryce  was  to  stay  for  the  rest  of  the 
w'eek?”  she  added  enquiringly.  “Didn’t  he  intend  to, 
Judy.P  He’s  such  a nice  boy — I wonder  what  drove  him 
away.P  He  is  rather  shy,  and  I’m  afraid  we  may  have 
shocked  him:  he  has  been  brought  up  in  such  an  old- 
fashioned  way.  Do  you  know,  Lily,  he  told  me  he  had 
never  seen  a girl  play  cards  for  money  till  he  saw  you 
doing  it  the  other  night.^  And  he  lives  on  the  interest  of 
his  income,  and  always  has  a lot  left  over  to  invest!” 

Mrs.  Fisher  leaned  forward  eagerly.  “I  do  believe  it  is 
some  one’s  duty  to  educate  that  young  man.  It  is  shock- 
[ 12*  ] 


IHli  HUUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Ing  that  he  has  never  been  made  to  realize  his  duties  as  a 
citizen.  Every  wealthy  man  should  be  compelled  to  study 
the  laws  of  his  country.” 

Mrs.  Dorset  glanced  at  her  quietly.  “I  think  he  has 
studied  the  divorce  laws.  He  told  me  he  had  promised 
the  Bishop  to  sign  some  kind  of  a petition  against  di~ 
vorce.” 

Mrs.  Fisher  reddened  under  her  powder,  and  Stepney 
said  with  a laughing  glance  at  Miss  Bart:  “I  suppose  he 
is  thinking  of  marriage,  and  wants  to  tinker  up  the  old 
ship  before  he  goes  aboard.” 

His  betrothed  looked  shocked  at  the  metaphor,  and 
George  Dorset  exclaimed  with  a sardonic  growl;  “Poor 
devil ! It  is  n’t  the  ship  that  will  do  for  him,  it ’s  the  crew.” 

“Or  the  stowaways,”  said  Miss  Corby  brightly.  “If  I 
contemplated  a voyage  with  him  I should  try  to  start 
with  a friend  in  the  hold.” 

Miss  Van  Osburgh’s  vague  feeling  of  pique  was  strug- 
gling for  appropriate  expression.  “I’m  sure  I don’t  see 
why  you  laugh  at  him ; I think  he ’s  very  nice,”  she  ex- 
claimed; “and,  at  any  rate,  a girl  who  married  him 
would  always  have  enough  to  be  comfortable.” 

She  looked  puzzled  at  the  redoubled  laughter  which 
hailed  her  words,  but  it  might  have  consoled  her  to  know 
how  deeply  they  had  sunk  into  the  breast  of  one  of  her 
hearers. 

Comfortable ! At  that  moment  the  word  was  more  elo- 

[ 126  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


quent  to  Lily  Bart  than  any  other  in  the  language.  She 
could  not  even  pause  to  smile  over  the  heiress’s  view  of 
a colossal  fortune  as  a mere  shelter  against  want:  her 
mind  was  filled  with  the  vision  of  what  that  shelter 
might  have  been  to  her.  Mrs.  Dorset’s  pin-pricks  did 
not  smart,  for  her  own  irony  cut  deeper:  no  one  could 
hurt  her  as  much  as  she  was  hurting  herself,  for  no  one 
else — not  even  Judy  Trenor — knew  the  full  magnitude 
of  her  folly. 

She  was  roused  from  these  unprofitable  considerations 
by  a whispered  request  from  her  hostess,  who  drew  her 
apart  as  they  left  the  luncheon-table. 

“ Lily,  dear,  if  you ’ve  nothing  special  to  do,  may  I tell 
Can-y  Fisher  that  you  intend  to  drive  to  the  station  and 
fetch  Gus.?  He  will  be  back  at  four,  and  I know  she  has 
it  in  her  mind  to  meet  him.  Of  course  I 'm  very  glad  to 
have  him  amused,  but  I happen  to  know  that  she  has 
bled  him  rather  severely  since  she ’s  been  here,  and  she  is 
so  keen  about  going  to  fetch  him  that  I fancy  she  must 
have  got  a lot  more  bills  this  morning.  It  seems  to  me,” 
Mrs.  Trenor  feelingly  concluded,  “that  most  of  her  ali- 
mony is  paid  by  other  women’s  husbands!” 

Miss  Bart,  on  her  way  to  the  station,  had  leisure  to 
muse  over  her  friend's  words,  and  their  peculiar  applica- 
tion to  herself.  Why  should  she  have  to  suffer  for  hav- 
ing once,  for  a few  hours,  borrowed  money  of  an  elderly 
cousin,  when  a woman  like  Carry  Fisher  could  make  a 
[ 126  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

living  unrebuked  from  the  good-nature  of  her  men  friends 
and  the  tolerance  of  their  wives?  It  all  turned  on  the  tire- 
some  distinction  between  what  a married  woman  might, 
and  a girl  might  not,  do.  Of  course  it  was  shocking  for  a 
married  woman  to  borrow  money — and  Lily  was  expertly 
aware  of  the  implication  involved — but  still,  it  was  the 
mere  malum  prohibitum  which  the  world  decries  but  con- 
dones, and  which,  though  it  may  be  punished  by  private 
vengeance,  does  not  provoke  the  collective  disapproba- 
tion of  society.  To  Miss  Bart,  in  short,  no  such  opportu- 
nities were  possible.  She  could  of  course  borrow  from  her 
women  friends — a hundred  here  or  there,  , ; the  utmost 
— but  they  were  more  ready  to  give  a gown  or  a trinket, 
and  looked  a little  askance  when  she  hinted  hi"  prefer- 
ence for  a cheque.  Women  are  not  generous  lenders,  and 
those  among  whom  her  lot  was  cast  were  either  in  the 
same  case  as  herself,  or  else  too  far  removed  from  it  to 
understand  its  necessities.  The  result  of  her  meditations 
was  the  decision  to  join  her  aunt  at  Richfield.  She  could 
not  remain  at  BeUomont  without  playing  bridge,  and 
being  involved  in  other  expenses;  and  to  continue  her 
usual  series  of  autumn  visits  would  merely  prolong  the 
same  difficulties.  She  had  reached  a point  where  abrupt 
retrenchment  was  necessary,  and  the  only  cheap  life 
was  a dull  life.  She  would  start  the  next  morning  for 
Richfield. 

At  the  station  she  thought  Gus  Trenor  seemed  sur* 

[ 187  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


prised,  and  not  wholly  unrelieved,  to  see  her.  She  yielded 
up  the  reins  of  the  light  runabout  in  which  she  had 
driven  over,  and  as  he  climbed  heavily  to  her  side,  crush- 
ing her  into  a scant  third  of  the  seat,  he  said:  “HaUoo! 
It  is  n’t  often  you  honour  me.  You  must  have  been  un- 
commonly hard  up  for  something  to  do.” 

The  afternoon  was  warm,  and  propinquity  made  her 
more  than  usually  conscious  that  he  was  red  and  meissive, 
and  that  beads  of  moisture  had  caused  the  dust  of  the 
train  to  adhere  unpleasantly  to  the  broad  expanse  of 
cheek  and  neck  which  he  turned  to  her;  but  she  was 
aware  also,  from  the  look  in  his  small  dull  eyes,  that 
the  contact  with  her  freshness  and  slenderness  was  as 
agreeable  to  him  as  the  sight  of  a cooling  beverage. 

The  perception  of  this  fact  helped  her  to  answer  gaily: 
“It’s  not  often  I have  the  chance.  There  are  too  many 
ladies  to  dispute  the  privilege  with  me.” 

“The  privilege  of  driving  me  home.^  Well,  I’m  glad 
you  won  the  race,  anyhow.  But  I know  what  really  hap- 
pened—my  wife  sent  you.  Now  didn’t  she?” 

He  had  the  dull  man’s  unexpected  flashes  of  astute- 
ness, and  Lily  could  not  help  joining  in  the  laugh  with 
which  he  had  pounced  on  the  truth. 

“You  see,  Judy  thinks  I’m  the  safest  person  for  you 
to  be  with;  and  she’s  quite  right,”  she  rejoined. 

“Oh,  is  she,  though?  K she  is,  it’s  because  you  wouldn't 
waste  your  time  on  an  old  hulk  like  me.  We  married 
[ 128  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


men  have  to  put  up  with  what  we  can  get:  all  the  prizes 
are  for  the  clever  chaps  who’ve  kept  a free  foot.  Let  me 
light  a cigar,  will  you.?  I’ve  had  a beastly  day  of  it.” 

He  drew  up  in  the  shade  of  the  village  street,  and 
passed  the  reins  to  her  while  he  held  a match  to  his  cigar. 
The  little  flame  under  his  hand  cast  a deeper  crimson 
on  his  pufiing  face,  and  Lily  averted  her  eyes  with  a mo- 
mentary feeling  of  repugnance.  And  yet  some  women 
thought  him  handsome! 

As  she  handed  back  the  reins,  she  said  sympatheti- 
cally: “Did  you  have  such  a lot  of  tiresome  things  to 
do?” 

“I  should  say  so — rather!”  Trenor,  who  was  seldom 
listened  to,  either  by  his  wife  or  her  friends,  settled 
down  into  the  rare  enjoyment  of  a confidential  talk. 
“You  don’t  know  how  a fellow  has  to  hustle  to  keep 
this  kind  of  thing  going.”  He  waved  his  whip  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  Bellomont  acres,  which  lay  outspread  be- 
fore them  in  opulent  undulations.  “Judy  has  no  idea  of 
what  she  spends — not  that  there  isn’t  plenty  to  keep 
the  thing  going,”  he  interrupted  himself,  “but  a man  has 
got  to  keep  his  eyes  open  and  pick  up  all  the  tips  he  can. 
My  father  and  mother  used  to  live  like  fighting-cocks 
on  their  income,  and  put  by  a good  bit  of  it  too — luckily 
for  me — but  at  the  pace  we  go  now,  I don’t  know  where 
I should  be  if  it  were  n’t  for  taking  a flyer  now  and  then. 
The  women  all  think — I mean  Judy  thinks — 'I’ve  no 
[ 129  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


thing  to  do  but  to  go  down  town  once  a month  and  cut 
off  coupons,  but  the  truth  is  it  takes  a devilish  lot  of 
hard  work  to  keep  the  machinery  running.  Not  that  I 
ought  to  complain  to-day,  though,”  he  went  on  after  a 
moment,  “for  I did  a very  neat  stroke  of  business,  thanks 
to  Stepney’s  friend  Rosedale;  by  the  way.  Miss  Lily,  I 
wish  you’d  try  to  persuade  Judy  to  be  decently  civil  to 
that  chap.  He ’s  going  to  be  rich  enough  to  buy  us  all 
out  one  of  these  days,  and  if  she’d  only  ask  him  to  dine 
now  and  then  I could  get  almost  anything  out  of  him. 
The  man  is  mad  to  know  the  people  who  don’t  want  to 
know  him,  and  when  a fellow ’s  in  that  state  there  is 
nothing  he  won’t  do  for  the  first  woman  who  takes  him 
up.” 

Lily  hesitated  a moment.  The  first  part  of  her  com- 
panion’s discourse  had  started  an  interesting  train  of 
thought,  which  was  rudely  interrupted  by  the  mention 
of  Mr.  Rosedale’s  name.  She  uttered  a faint  protest. 

“But  you  know  Jack  did  try  to  take  him  about,  and 
he  was  impossible.” 

“Oh,  hang  it — because  he’s  fat  and  shiny,  and  has  a 
shoppy  manner ! Well,  all  I can  say  is  that  the  people 
who  are  clever  enough  to  be  civil  to  him  now  will  make 
a mighty  good  thing  of  it.  A few  years  from  now  he  ’U 
be  in  it  whether  we  want  him  or  not,  and  then  he  won’t 
be  giving  away  a half-a-million  tip  for  a dmner.” 

Lily’s  mind  had  reverted  from  the  intrusive  personality 

[ 330  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


of  Mr.  Rosedale  to  the  train  of  thought  set  in  motion 
by  Trenor’s  first  words.  This  vast  mysterious  Wall  Street 
world  of  “tips”  and  “deals” — might  she  not  find  in  it 
the  means  of  escape  from  her  dreary  predicament.?  She 
had  often  heard  of  women  making  money  in  this  way 
through  their  friends : she  had  no  more  notion  than  most 
of  her  sex  of  the  exact  nature  of  the  transaction,  and  its 
vagueness  seemed  to  diminish  its  indelicacy.  She  could 
not,  indeed,  imagine  herself,  in  any  extremity,  stooping 
to  extract  a “tip”  from  Mr.  Rosedale;  but  at  her  side 
was  a man  in  possession  of  that  precious  commodity,  and 
who,  as  the  husband  of  her  dearest  friend,  stood  to  her 
in  a relation  of  almost  fraternal  intimacy. 

In  her  inmost  heart  Lily  knew  it  was  not  by  appeal- 
ing to  the  fraternal  instinct  that  she  was  likely  to  move 
Gus  Trenor;  but  this  way  of  explaining  the  situation 
helped  to  drape  its  crudity,  and  she  was  always  scrupu- 
lous about  keeping  up  appearances  to  herself.  Her  per- 
sonal fastidiousness  had  a moral  equivalent,  and  when 
she  made  a tour  of  inspection  in  her  own  mind  there 
were  certain  closed  doors  she  did  not  open. 

As  they  reached  the  gates  of  Bellomont  she  txirned  to 
Trenor  with  a smile. 

“The  afternoon  is  so  perfect — don’t  you  want  to  drive 
me  a little  farther.?  I’ve  been  rather  out  of  spirits  all 
day,  and  it’s  so  restful  to  be  away  from  people,  with 
some  one  who  won’t  mind  if  I ’m  a little  duU.” 

[ 181  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


She  looked  so  plaintively  lovely  as  she  proffered  the 
request,  so  trustfully  sure  of  his  sympathy  and  under- 
standing, that  Trenor  felt  himself  wishing  that  his  wife 
could  see  how  other  women  treated  him — not  battered 
wire-pullers  like  Mrs.  Fisher,  but  a girl  that  most  men 
would  have  given  their  boots  to  get  such  a look  from. 

“Out  of  spirits.?  Why  on  earth  should  you  ever  be  out 
of  spirits.?  Is  yoim  last  box  of  Doucet  dresses  a failure,  or 
did  Judy  rookyou  out  of  everything  at  bridge  last  night.?” 

Lily  shook  her  head  with  a sigh.  “ I have  had  to  give 
up  Doucet;  and  bridge  too — I can’t  afford  it.  In  fact  I 
can’t  afford  any  of  the  things  my  friends  do,  and  I am 
afraid  Judy  often  thinks  me  a bore  because  I don’t  play 
cards  any  longer,  and  because  I am  not  as  smartly  dressed 
as  the  other  women.  But  you  will  think  me  a bore  too 
if  I talk  to  you  about  my  worries,  and  I only  mention 
them  because  I want  you  to  do  me  a favour — the  very 
greatest  of  favours.” 

Her  eyes  sought  his  once  more,  and  she  smiled  inwardly 
at  the  tinge  of  apprehension  that  she  read  in  them. 

“Why,  of  course — if  it’s  anything  I can  manage ” 

He  broke  off,  and  she  guessed  that  his  enjoyment  was 
disturbed  by  the  remembrance  of  Mrs.  Fisher’s  methods. 

“The  greatest  of  favours,”  she  rejoined  gently.  “Tlie 
fact  is,  Judy  is  angry  with  me,  and  I want  you  to  make 
my  peace.” 

“Angry  with  you.?  Oh,  come,  nonsense ” his  relief 

r 132  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


broke  through  in  a laugh.  “Why,  you  know  she’s  de« 
voted  to  you.” 

“She  is  the  best  friend  I have,  and  that  is  why  I mind 
having  to  vex  her.  But  I daresay  you  know  what  she  has 
wanted  me  to  do.  She  has  set  her  heart — poor  dear — 
on  my  marrying — marrying  a great  deal  of  money.” 

She  paused  with  a slight  falter  of  embarrassment,  and 
Trenor,  turning  abruptly,  fixed  on  her  a look  of  growing 
intelligence. 

“A  great  deal  of  money.?  Oh,  by  Jove — you  don’t 
mean  Gryce.?  WTiat — you  do.?  Oh,  no,  of  course  I won’t 
mention  it — you  can  trust  me  to  keep  my  mouth  shut 
— but  Gryce — good  Lord,  Grycel  Did  Judy  really  think 
you  could  bring  yourself  to  marry  that  portentous  little 
ass.?  But  you  couldn’t,  eh?  And  so  you  gave  him  the 
sack,  and  that’s  the  reason  why  he  lit  out  by  the  first 
train  this  morning?”  He  leaned  back,  spreading  himself 
farther  across  the  seat,  as  if  dilated  by  the  joyful  sense 
of  his  own  discernment.  “How  on  earth  could  Judy  think 
you  would  do  such  a thing?  I could  have  told  her  you’d 
never  put  up  with  such  a little  milksop!” 

Lily  sighed  more  deeply.  “I  sometimes  think,”  she 
murmured,  “that  men  understand  a woman’s  motives 
better  than  other  women  do.” 

“Some  men — I’m  certain  of  it!  I could  have  told 
Judy,”  he  repeated,  exulting  in  the  implied  superiority 
over  his  wife. 


[ 183  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“I  thought  you  would  understand ; that’s  why  I wanted 
to  speak  to  you,”  Mias  Bart  rejoined.  “I  carit  make  that 
kind  of  marriage;  it’s  impossible.  But  neither  can  I go 
on  living  as  all  the  women  in  my  set  do.  I am  almost 
entirely  dependent  on  my  aunt,  and  though  she  is  very 
kind  to  me  she  makes  me  no  regular  allowance,  and  lately 
I ’ve  lost  money  at  cards,  and  I don’t  dare  tell  her  about 
it.  I have  paid  my  card  debts,  of  course,  but  there  is 
hardly  anything  left  for  my  other  expenses,  and  if  I go 
on  with  my  present  life  I shall  be  in  horrible  difficulties. 
I have  a tiny  income  of  my  own,  but  I’m  afraid  it’s 
badly  invested,  for  it  seems  to  bring  in  less  every  year, 
and  I am  so  ignorant  of  money  matters  that  I don’t  know 
if  my  aunt’s  agent,  who  looks  after  it,  is  a good  adviser.” 
She  paused  a moment,  and  added  in  a lighter  tone:  “I 
did  n’t  mean  to  bore  you  with  all  this,  but  I want  your 
help  in  making  Judy  understand  that  I can’t,  at  present, 
go  on  living  as  one  must  live  among  you  all.  I am  going 
away  tomorrow  to  join  my  aunt  at  Richfield,  and  I shall 
stay  there  for  the  rest  of  the  autumn,  and  dismiss  my 
maid  and  learn  how  to  mend  my  own  clothes.” 

At  this  picture  of  loveliness  in  distress,  the  pathos  of 
which  was  heightened  by  the  light  touch  with  which  it 
was  drawn,  a murmur  of  indignant  sympathy  broke  from 
Trenor.  Twenty-four  hours  earlier,  if  his  wdfe  had  con- 
sulted him  on  the  subject  of  Miss  Bart’s  future,  he  would 
have  said  that  a girl  with  extravagant  tastes  and  no 

[ 131  ] 


the;, HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

monej/  had  better  marry  the  first  rich  man  she  could  get, 
but  with  the  subject  of  discussion  at  his  side,  turning  to 
him  for  sympathy,  making  him  feel  that  he  understood 
her  better  than  her  dearest  friends,  and  confirming  the 
assurance  by  the  appeal  of  her  exquisite  nearness,  he  was 
ready  to  swear  that  such  a marriage  was  a desecration, 
and  that,  as  a man  of  honour,  he  was  bound  to  do  all 
he  could  to  protect  her  from  the  results  of  her  disin- 
terestedness. This  impulse  was  reinforced  by  the  reflec- 
tion that  if  she  had  married  Gryce  she  would  have  been 
surrounded  by  flattery  and  approval,  whereas,  having 
refused  to  sacrifice  herself  to  expediency,  she  was  left  to 
bear  the  whole  cost  of  her  resistance.  Hang  it,  if  he 
could  find  a way  out  of  such  difficulties  for  a professional 
sponge  like  Carry  Fisher,  who  was  simply  a mental  habit 
corresponding  to  the  physical  titillations  of  the  ciga- 
rette or  the  cock-tail,  he  could  surely  do  as  much  for  a 
girl  who  appealed  to  his  highest  sympathies,  and  who 
brought  her  troubles  to  him  with  the  trustfulness  of  a 
child. 

Trenor  and  Miss  Bart  prolonged  their  drive  till  long 
after  sunset;  and  before  it  was  over  he  had  tried,  with 
some  show  of  success,  to  prove  to  her  that,  if  she  would 
only  trust  him,  he  could  make  a handsome  sum  of  money 
for  her  without  endangering  the  small  amount  she  pos- 
sessed. She  was  too  genuinely  ignorant  of  the  manipula- 
tions of  the  stock-market  to  undei’stand  his  technical 
[ 135  ] 


'iHii;  Huusjt:  Ob'  mirth 


explanations,  or  even  perhaps  to  perceive  that  certain 
points  in  them  were  slurred;  the  haziness  enveloping  the 
transaction  served  as  a veil  for  her  embarrassment,  and 
through  the  general  blur  her  hopes  dilated  like  lamps 
in  a fog.  She  understood  only  that  her  modest  invest- 
ments were  to  be  mysteriously  multiplied  wdthout  risk 
to  herself;  and  the  assurance  that  this  miracle  would 
take  place  within  a short  time,  that  there  would  be  no 
tedious  interval  for  suspense  and  reaction,  relieved  her 
of  her  lingering  scruples. 

Again  she  felt  the  lightening  of  her  load,  and  with  it 
the  release  of  repressed  activities.  Her  immediate  worries 
conjured,  it  was  easy  to  resolve  that  she  would  never 
again  find  herself  in  such  straits,  and  as  the  need  of 
economy  and  self-denial  receded  from  her  foreground  she 
felt  herself  ready  to  meet  any  other  demand  which  life 
might  make.  Even  the  immediate  one  of  letting  Trenor, 
as  they  drove  homeward,  lean  a little  nearer  and  rest  his 
hand  reassuringly  on  hers,  cost  her  only  a momentary 
shiver  of  reluctance.  It  was  part  of  the  game  to  make 
him  feel  that  her  appeal  had  been  an  imcalculated  im- 
pulse, provoked  by  the  liking  he  inspired;  and  the  re- 
newed sense  of  power  in  handling  men,  while  it  consoled 
her  wounded  vanity,  helped  also  to  obscure  the  thought 
of  the  claim  at  which  his  manner  hinted.  He  was  a coarse 
dull  man  who,  under  all  his  show  of  authority,  was  a 
mere  supernumerary  in  the  costly  show  for  which  hii 

I 136  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


money  paid : surely,  to  a clever  girl,  it  would  be  easy  to  hold 


him  by  his  vanity,  and  so  keep  the  obligation  on  his  side. 


VIII 


HE  first  thousand  dollar  cheque  which  Lily  re* 


ceived  with  a blotted  scrawl  from  Gus  Trenor 


strengthened  her  self-confidence  in  the  exact  degree  to 
which  it  effaced  her  debts. 

The  transaction  had  justified  itself  by  its  results;  she 
saw  now  how  absurd  it  would  have  been  to  let  any  primi- 
tive scruple  deprive  her  of  this  easy  means  of  appeasing 
her  creditors.  Lily  felt  really  virtuous  as  she  dispensed 
the  sum  in  sops  to  her  tradesmen,  and  the  fact  that  a 
fresh  order  accompanied  each  payment  did  not  lessen  her 
sense  of  disinterestedness.  How  many  women,  in  her  place, 
\?ould  have  given  the  orders  without  making  the  payment ! 

She  had  found  it  reassuringly  easy  to  keep  Trenor  in 
a good  humour.  To  listen  to  his  stories,  to  receive  his 
confidences  and  laugh  at  his  jokes,  seemed  for  the  mo- 
ment all  that  was  required  of  her,  and  the  complacency 
with  which  her  hostess  regarded  these  attentions  freed 
them  of  the  least  hint  of  ambiguity.  Mrs.  Trenor  evi- 
dently assumed  that  Lily’s  growing  intimacy  with  her 
husband  was  simply  an  indirect  way  of  returning  her 
own  kindness. 

“I’m  so  glad  you  and  Gus  have  become  such  good 


[ 137  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


.Tiends,”  she  said  approvingly.  “It’s  too  delightful  of 
you  to  be  so  nice  to  him,  and  put  up  with  all  his  tire- 
some stories.  I know  what  they  are,  because  I had  to 
listen  to  them  when  we  were  engaged — I’m  sure  he  is 
telling  the  same  ones  still.  And  now  I shan’t  always 
have  to  be  asking  Carry  Fisher  here  to  keep  him  in  a 
good-humour.  She’s  a perfect  vulture,  you  know;  and 
she  has  n’t  the  least  moral  sense.  She  is  always  getting 
Gus  to  speculate  for  her,  and  I’m  sure  she  never  pays 
when  she  loses.” 

Miss  Bart  could  shudder  at  this  state  of  things  with- 
out the  embarrassment  of  a personal  application.  Her 
own  position  was  surely  quite  different.  There  could  be 
no  question  of  her  not  paying  when  she  lost,  since  Tre- 
nor  had  assured  her  that  she  was  certain  not  to  lose.  In 
sending  her  the  cheque  he  had  explained  that  he  had 
made  five  thousand  for  her  out  of  Rosedale’s  “tip,”  and 
had  put  four  thousand  back  in  the  same  venture,  as 
there  was  the  promise  of  another  “ big  rise  ” ; she  under- 
stood therefore  that  he  was  now  speculating  with  her 
own  money,  and  that  she  consequently  owed  him  no 
more  than  the  gratitude  which  such  a trifling  service 
demanded.  She  vaguely  supposed  that,  to  raise  the  first 
»um,  he  had  borrowed  on  her  securities;  but  this  was  a 
point  over  which  her  curiosity  did  not  linger.  It  was 
concentrated,  for  the  moment,  on  the  probable  date  of 
the  next  “big  rise.” 


[ 138  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


The  news  of  this  event  was  received  by  her  some 
weeks  later,  on  the  occasion  of  Jack  Stepney’s  marriage 
to  Miss  Van  Osburgh.  As  a cousin  of  the  bridegroom, 
Miss  Bart  had  been  asked  to  act  as  bridesmaid;  but  she 
had  declined  on  the  plea  that,  since  she  was  much  taller 
than  the  other  attendant  virgins,  her  presence  might 
mar  the  symmetry  of  the  group.  The  truth  was,  she  had 
attended  too  many  brides  to  the  altar:  when  next  seen 
there  she  meant  to  be  the  chief  figure  in  the  ceremony. 
She  knew  the  pleasantries  made  at  the  expense  of  young 
girls  who  have  been  too  long  before  the  public,  and  she 
was  resolved  to  avoid  such  assumptions  of  youthfulness 
as  might  lead  people  to  think  her  older  than  she  really 
was. 

The  Van  Osburgh  marriage  was  celebrated  in  the 
village  church  near  the  paternal  estate  on  the  Hudson. 
It  was  the  “simple  country  wedding”  to  which  guests 
are  convoyed  in  special  trains,  and  from  which  the 
hordes  of  the  uninvited  have  to  be  fended  off  by  the 
intervention  of  the  police.  While  these  sylvan  rites  were 
taking  place,  in  a church  packed  with  fashion  and  fes- 
tooned with  orchids,  the  representatives  of  the  press 
were  threading  their  way,  note-book  in  hand,  through 
the  labyrinth  of  wedding  presents,  and  the  agent  of  a 
cinematograph  syndicate  was  setting  up  his  apparatus 
at  the  church  door.  It  was  the  kind  of  scene  in  which 
Lily  had  often  pictured  herself  as  taking  the  principal 
[ 139  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


part,  and  on  this  occasion  the  fact  that  she  was  once 
more  merely  a casual  spectator,  instead  of  the  mystically 
veiled  figure  occupying  the  centre  of  attention,  strength- 
ened her  resolve  to  assume  the  latter  part  before  the 
year  was  over.  The  fact  that  her  immediate  anxieties 
were  relieved  did  not  blind  her  to  a possibility  of  their 
recurrence;  it  merely  gave  her  enough  buoyancy  to  rise 
once  more  above  her  doubts  and  feel  a renewed  faith  in 
her  beauty,  her  power,  and  her  general  fitness  to  attract 
a brilliant  destiny.  It  could  not  be  that  one  conscious 
of  such  aptitudes  for  mastery  and  enjoyment  was  doomed 
to  a perpetuity  of  failure;  and  her  mistakes  looked  easily 
reparable  in  the  light  of  her  restored  self-confidence. 

A special  appositeness  was  given  to  these  reflections 
by  the  discovery,  in  a neighbouring  pew,  of  the  serious 
profile  and  neatly-trimmed  beard  of  Mr.  Percy  Gryce. 
TTiere  was  something  almost  bridal  in  his  own  aspect: 
his  large  white  gardenia  had  a symbolic  air  that  strack 
Lily  as  a good  omen.  After  all,  seen  in  an  assemblage 
of  his  kind  he  was  not  ridiculous-looking:  a friendly 
critic  might  have  called  his  heaviness  weighty,  and  he 
was  at  his  best  in  the  attitude  of  vacant  passivity  which 
brings  out  the  oddities  of  the  restless.  She  fancied  he 
was  the  kind  of  man  whose  sentimental  associations 
would  be  stirred  by  the  conventional  imagery  of  a wed- 
ding, and  she  pictured  herself,  in  the  seclusion  of  the 
Van  Osburgh  conservatories,  playing  skilfully  upon  sen- 

[ no  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


sibilities  thus  prepared  for  her  touch.  In  fact,  when  she 
looked  at  the  other  women  about  her,  and  recalled  the 
image  she  had  brought  away  from  her  own  glass,  it  did 
not  seem  as  though  any  special  skill  would  be  needed 
to  repair  her  blunder  and  bring  him  once  more  to  her 
feet. 

The  sight  of  Selden’s  dark  head,  in  a pew  almost  fa- 
cing her,  disturbed  for  a moment  the  balance  of  her  com- 
placency. The  rise  of  her  blood  as  their  eyes  met  was 
succeeded  by  a contrary  motion,  a wave  of  resistance  and 
withdrawal.  She  did  not  wish  to  see  him  again,  not  be- 
cause she  feared  his  influence,  but  because  his  presence 
always  had  the  effect  of  cheapening  her  aspirations,  of 
throwing  her  whole  world  out  of  focus.  Besides,  he  was 
a living  reminder  of  the  worst  mistake  in  her  career,  and 
the  fact  that  he  had  been  its  cause  did  not  soften  her 
feelings  toward  him.  She  could  still  imagine  an  ideal 
state  of  existence  in  which,  all  else  being  superaddedy 
intercourse  with  Selden  might  be  the  last  touch  of  lux- 
ury; but  in  the  world  as  it  was,  such  a privilege  was 
likely  to  cost  more  than  it  was  worth. 

“Lily,  dear,  I never  saw  you  look  so  lovely!  You 
look  as  if  something  delightful  had  just  happened  to 
you!” 

The  young  lady  who  thus  formulated  her  admiration 
of  her  brilliant  friend  did  not,  in  her  own  person,  sug- 
gest such  happy  possibilities.  Miss  Gertrude  Farish,  in 

£ 141  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


faxit,  typified  the  mediocre  and  the  ineffectual.  If  there 
were  compensating  qualities  in  her  wide  frank  glance 
and  the  freshness  of  her  smile,  these  were  qualities  which 
only  the  sympathetic  observer  would  perceive  before 
noticing  that  her  eyes  were  of  a workaday  gi’ey  and  her 
lips  without  haunting  curves.  Lily’s  own  view  of  her 
wavered  between  pity  for  her  limitations  and  impatience 
at  her  cheerful  acceptance  of  them.  To  Miss  Bart,  as  to 
her  mother,  acquiescence  in  dinginess  was  evidence  of 
stupidity;  and  there  were  moments  when,  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  her  own  power  to  look  and  to  be  so  exactly 
what  the  occasion  required,  she  almost  felt  that  other 
girls  were  plain  and  inferior  from  choice.  Certainly  no 
one  need  have  confessed  such  acquiescence  in  her  lot  as 
was  revealed  in  the  “useful”  colour  of  Gerty  Parish’s 
gowTi  and  the  subdued  lines  of  her  hat:  it  is  almost  as 
stupid  to  let  your  clothes  betray  that  you  know  you  are 
ugly  as  to  have  them  proclaim  that  you  think  you  are 
beautiful. 

Of  course,  being  fatally  poor  and  dingy,  it  was  wise 
of  Gerty  to  have  taken  up  philanthropy  and  symphony 
concerts;  but  there  was  something  irritating  in  her  as- 
sumption that  existence  yielded  no  higher  pleasures,  and 
that  one  might  get  as  much  interest  and  excitement 
out  of  life  in  a cramped  flat  as  in  the  splendours  of  the 
Van  Osburgh  establishment.  Today,  however,  her  chirp- 
ing enthusiasms  did  not  initate  Lily.  They  seemed  only 
[ 142  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


to  throw  her  own  exceptionalness  into  becoming  relief, 
and  give  a soaring  vastness  to  her  scheme  of  life, 

“Do  let  us  go  and  take  a peep  at  the  presents  before 
every  one  else  leaves  the  dining-room!”  suggested  Miss 
Parish,  linking  her  arm  in  her  friend’s.  It  was  character- 
istic of  her  to  take  a sentimental  and  unenvious  interest 
in  all  the  details  of  a wedding:  she  was  the  kind  of  per 
son  who  always  kept  her  handkerchief  out  during  the 
service,  and  departed  clutching  a box  of  wedding-cake. 

“Isn’t  everything  beautifully  done.'*”  she  pursued,  as 
they  entered  the  distant  drawing-room  assigned  to  the 
display  of  Miss  Van  Osburgh’s  bridal  spoils.  “I  always 
say  no  one  does  things  better  than  cousin  Grace!  Did 
you  ever  taste  anything  more  delicious  than  that  mousse 
of  lobster  with  champagne  sauce.?  I made  up  my  mind 
weeks  ago  that  I wouldn’t  miss  this  wedding,  and  just 
fancy  how  delightfully  it  all  came  about.  When  Lawrence 
Selden  heard  I was  coming,  he  insisted  on  fetching  me 
himself  and  driving  me  to  the  station,  and  when  we  go 
! back  this  evening  I am  to  dine  with  him  at  Sherry’s.  I 
I really  feel  as  excited  as  if  I were  getting  mamed  my- 
self!” 

1 Lily  smiled:  she  knew  that  Selden  had  always  been 
kind  to  his  dull  cousin,  and  she  had  sometimes  wondered 
I why  he  wasted  so  much  time  in  such  an  unremunerative 
I manner;  but  now  the  thought  gave  her  a vague  pleasure. 
I “Do  you  see  him  often?”  she  asked. 

I [ 143  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Yes;  he  is  very  good  about  dropping  in  on  Sundays. 
And  now  and  then  we  do  a play  together;  but  lately  I 
have  n’t  seen  much  of  him.  He  does  n’t  look  well,  and  he 
seems  nervous  and  unsettled.  The  dear  fellow!  I do  wish 
he  would  marry  some  nice  girl.  I told  him  so  today,  but 
he  said  he  did  n’t  care  for  the  really  nice  ones,  and  the 
other  kind  didn’t  care  for  him — but  that  was  just  his 
joke,  of  course.  He  could  never  marry  a girl  who  was  rCt 
nice.  Oh,  my  dear,  did  you  ever  see  such  pearls?” 

They  had  paused  before  the  table  on  which  the  bride’s 
jewels  were  displayed,  and  Lily’s  heart  gave  an  envious 
throb  as  she  caught  the  refraction  of  light  from  their 
surfaces — the  milky  gleam  of  perfectly  matched  pearls, 
the  flash  of  rubies  relieved  against  contrasting  velvet, 
the  intense  blue  rays  of  sapphires  kindled  into  light  by 
surrounding  diamonds;  all  these  precious  tints  enhanced 
and  deepened  by  the  varied  art  of  their  setting.  The 
glow  of  the  stones  warmed  Lily’s  veins  like  wine.  More 
completely  than  any  other  expression  of  wealth  they  sym- 
bolized the  life  she  longed  to  lead,  the  life  of  fastidious 
aloofness  and  refinement  in  which  every  detail  should 
have  the  finish  of  a jewel,  and  the  whole  form  a harmo- 
nious setting  to  her  own  jewel-like  rareness. 

“Oh,  Lily,  do  look  at  this  diamond  pendant — it’s  as 
big  as  a dinner-plate!  ^Vho  can  have  given  it?”  Miss 
Parish  bent  short-sightedly  over  the  accompanying  card. 
“jWr.  Simon  Rosedale.  MTiat,  that  hoi-rid  man?  Oh,  ye* 
[ 144  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


— I remember  he’s  a friend  of  Jack’s,  and  I suppose 
cousin  Grace  had  to  ask  him  here  today;  but  she  must 
rather  hate  having  to  let  Gwen  accept  such  a present 
from  him.” 

Lily  smiled.  She  doubted  Mrs.  Van  Osburgh’s  reluc' 
tance,  but  was  awai’e  of  Miss  Parish’s  habit  of  ascribing- 
her  own  delicacies  of  feeling  to  the  persons  least  likely 
to  be  encumbered  by  them. 

“Well,  if  Gwen  does  n’t  care  to  be  seen  wearing  it  she 
can  always  exchange  it  for  something  else,”  she  remarked. 

“Ah,  here  is  something  so  much  prettier,”  Miss  Pa- 
rish continued.  “Do  look  at  this  exquisite  white  sapphire. 
I ’m  sure  the  person  who  chose  it  must  have  taken  par- 
ticular pains.  What  is  the  name.?  Percy  Gryce.?  Ah,  then 
I’m  not  surprised!”  She  smiled  significantly  as  she  re- 
placed the  card.  “Of  course  you’ve  heard  that  he’s  per- 
fectly devoted  to  Evie  Van  Osburgh.?  Cousin  Grace  is  so 
pleased  about  it — it ’s  quite  a romance!  He  met  her  fii-st 
at  the  George  Dorsets’,  only  about  six  weeks  ago,  and 
it’s  just  the  nicest  possible  marriage  for  dear  Evie.  Oh, 
I don’t  mean  the  money — of  course  she  has  plenty  of  her 
own — but  she’s  such  a quiet  stay-at-home  kind  of  girl, 
and  it  seems  he  has  just  the  same  tastes;  so  they  are  ex- 
actly suited  to  each  other.” 

Lily  stood  staring  vacantly  at  the  white  sapphire  on 
its  velvet  bed.  Evie  Van  Osburgh  and  Percy  Gryce.?  The 
names  rang  derisively  through  her  brain.  Evie  Van  Os- 
[ U5  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


hurgh?  The  youngest,  dumpiest,  dullest  of  the  four  duh 
and  dumpy  daughters  whom  Mrs.  Van  Osburgh,  with 
unsurpassed  astuteness,  had  “placed”  one  by  one  in  en- 
viable niches  of  existence!  Ah,  lucky  girls  who  grow  up 
in  the  shelter  of  a mother’s  love — a mother  who  knows 
how  to  contrive  opportunities  without  conceding  favours, 
how  to  take  advantage  of  propinquity  without  allowing 
appetite  to  be  dulled  by  habit!  The  cleverest  girl  may 
miscalculate  where  her  own  interests  are  concerned,  may 
yield  too  much  at  one  moment  and  withdraw  too  far  at 
the  next : it  takes  a mother’s  unerring  vigilance  and  fore- 
sight to  land  her  daughters  safely  in  the  arms  of  w’ealth 
and  suitability. 

Lily’s  passing  light-heartedness  sank  beneath  a re- 
newed sense  of  failure.  Life  was  too  stupid,  too  blimder- 
ing!  Why  should  Percy  Gryce’s  millions  be  joined  to  an- 
other great  fortune,  why  should  this  clumsy  girl  be  put 
in  possession  of  powers  she  would  never  know  how  to  use.'’ 

She  was  roused  from  these  speculations  by  a familiar 
touch  on  her  arm,  and  turning  saw"  Gus  Trenor  beside 
her.  She  felt  a thrill  of  vexation ; what  right  had  he  to 
touch  her.?  Luckily  Geidy  Parish  had  wandered  olF  to  the 
next  table,  and  they  were  alone. 

Trenor,  looking  stouter  than  ever  in  his  tight  fixx^k- 
coat,  and  unbecomingly  flushed  by  the  bridal  libations, 
gazed  at  her  with  undisguised  approval. 

“By  Jove,  Lily,  you  do  look  a stunner!”  He  had 

[ 146  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


slipped  insensibly  into  the  use  of  her  Chi'istian  name, 
and  she  had  never  found  the  right  moment  to  correct 
him.  Besides,  in  her  set  all  the  men  and  women  called 
each  other  by  their  Christian  names ; it  was  only  on  Tre- 
nor’s  lips  that  the  familiar  address  had  an  unpleasant 
significance. 

“Well,”  he  continued,  still  jovially  impervious  to  her 
annoyance,  “ have  you  made  up  your  mind  which  of  these 
little  trinkets  you  mean  to  duplicate  at  Tiffany’s  tomor- 
row.? I’ve  got  a cheque  for  you  in  my  pocket  that  will  go 
a long  way  in  that  line!” 

Lily  gave  him  a startled  look:  his  voice  was  louder 
than  usual,  and  the  room  was  beginning  to  fill  with  peo- 
ple. But  as  her  glance  assured  her  that  they  were  still  be- 
yond ear-shot  a sense  of  pleasure  replaced  her  appre- 
hension. 

“Another  dividend?”  she  asked,  smiling  and  drawing 
near  him  in  the  desire  not  to  be  overheard. 

“Well,  not  exactly:  I sold  out  on  the  rise  and  I’ve 
pulled  off  four  thou’  for  you.  Not  so  bad  for  a beginner, 
eh  ? I suppose  you  ’ll  begin  to  think  you  ’re  a pretty 
knowing  speculator.  And  perhaps  you  won’t  think  poor 
old  Gus  such  an  awful  ass  as  some  people  do.” 

“I  think  you  the  kindest  of  friends;  but  I can’t  thank 
you  properly  now.” 

She  let  her  eyes  shine  into  his  with  a look  that  made 
up  for  the  hand-clasp  he  would  have  claimed  if  they  had 

[ ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


been  alone — and  how  glad  she  was  that  they  were  noti 
The  news  filled  her  with  the  glow  produced  by  a sudden 
cessation  of  physical  pain.  The  world  was  not  so  stupid 
and  blundering  after  all:  now  and  then  a stroke  of  luck 
came  to  the  vmluckiest.  At  the  thought  her  spirits  began 
to  rise:  it  was  characteristic  of  her  that  one  trifling  piece 
of  good  fortune  should  give  wings  to  all  her  hopes.  In- 
stantly came  the  reflection  that  Percy  Gryce  was  not  ir- 
retrievably lost;  and  she  smiled  to  think  of  the  excitement 
of  recapturing  him  from  Evie  Van  Osburgh.  What  chance 
could  such  a simpleton  have  against  her  if  she  chose  to 
exert  herself.?  She  glanced  about,  hoping  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  Gryce;  but  her  eyes  lit  instead  on  the  glossy 
countenance  of  Mr.  Rosedale,  who  was  slipping  through 
the  crowd  with  an  air  half  obsequious,  half  obtrusive,  as 
though,  the  moment  his  presence  was  recognized,  it  would 
swell  to  the  dimensions  of  the  room. 

Not  wishing  to  be  the  means  of  effecting  this  enlarge- 
ment, Lily  quickly  transferred  her  glance  to  Trenor,  to 
whom  the  expression  of  her  gratitude  seemed  not  to  have 
brought  the  complete  gratification  she  had  meant  it  to 
give. 

“Hang  thanking  me — I don’t  want  to  be  thanked, 
but  I should  like  the  chance  to  say  two  words  to  you  now 
and  then,”  he  grumbled.  “ I thought  you  were  going  to 
spend  the  whole  autumn  with  us,  and  I ’ve  hardly  laid 
eyes  on  you  for  the  last  month.  MTiy  can’t  you  come 
[ ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


back  to  Bellomont  this  evening?  We’re  all  alone,  and 
Judy  is  as  cross  as  two  sticks.  Do  come  and  cheer  a fel- 
low up.  If  you  say  yes  I ’ll  run  you  over  in  the  motor, 
and  you  can  telephone  your  maid  to  bring  your  traps 
from  town  by  the  next  train.” 

Lily  shook  her  head  with  a charming  semblance  of  re- 
gret. “I  wish  I could — but  it’s  quite  impossible.  My 
aunt  has  come  back  to  town,  and  I must  be  with  her  for 
the  next  few  days.” 

“Well,  I’ve  seen  a good  deal  less  of  you  since  we’ve 
got  to  be  such  pals  than  I used  to  when  you  were  Judy’s 
friend,”  he  continued  with  unconscious  penetration. 

“When  I was  Judy’s  friend?  Am  I not  her  friend  still.?* 
Really,  you  say  the  most  absurd  things!  If  I were  always 
at  Bellomont  you  would  tire  of  me  much  sooner  than 
Judy — but  come  and  see  me  at  my  aunt’s  the  next  after- 
noon you  are  in  town;  then  we  can  have  a nice  quiet 
talk,  and  you  can  tell  me  how  I had  better  invest  my 
fortune.” 

It  was  true  that,  during  the  last  three  or  four  weeks, 
she  had  absented  herself  from  Bellomont  on  the  pre- 
text of  having  other  visits  to  pay;  but  she  now  began 
to  feel  that  the  reckoning  she  had  thus  contrived  to 
^ evade  had  rolled  up  interest  in  the  interval. 

The  prospect  of  the  nice  quiet  talk  did  not  appear  as 
all-sufficing  to  Trenor  as  she  had  hoped,  and  his  brows 
continued  to  lower  as  he  said:  “Oh,  I don’t  know  that  ? 
[ 149  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


can  promise  you  a fresh  tip  every  day.  But  there ’s  one 
thing  you  might  do  for  me;  and  that  is,  just  to  be  a 
little  civil  to  Rosedale.  Judy  has  promised  to  ask  him 
to  dine  when  we  get  to  town,  but  I can’t  induce  her  to 
have  him  at  Bellomont,  and  if  you  would  let  me  bring 
him  up  now  it  would  make  a lot  of  difference.  I don’t 
believe  two  women  have  spoken  to  him  this  afternoon, 
and  I can  tell  you  he ’s  a chap  it  pays  to  be  decent  to.” 

Miss  Bart  made  an  impatient  movement,  but  sup- 
pressed the  words  which  seemed  about  to  accompany  it. 
After  all,  this  was  an  unexpectedly  easy  way  of  acquit- 
ting her  debt ; and  had  she  not  reasons  of  her  own  for  ! 
wishing  to  be  civil  to  Mr.  Rosedale.'* 

“Oh,  bring  him  by  all  means,”  she  said  smiling;  “per- 
haps I can  get  a tip  out  of  him  on  my  own  account.” 

Trenor  paused  abruptly,  and  his  e\*es  fixed  them- 
selves on  hers  with  a look  which  made  her  change  colour.  ' 
“I  say,  you  know — you’ll  please  remember  he’s  a 
blooming  bounder,”  he  said;  and  with  a slight  laugh  she 
turned  toward  the  open  window  near  which  they  had 
been  standing. 

The  throng  in  the  room  had  increased,  and  she  felt  a 
desire  for  space  and  fresh  air.  Both  of  these  she  found  on 
the  terrace,  where  only  a few  men  were  lingering  over 
cigarettes  and  liqueur,  while  scattered  couples  strolled 
across  the  la\^’n  to  the  autumn -tinted  borders  of  the 
flower-garden. 


( ISO  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


As  she  emerged,  a man  moved  toward  her  from  the 
knot  of  smokers,  and  she  found  herself  face  to  face  with 
Selden.  The  stir  of  the  pulses  which  his  nearness  always 
caused  was  increased  by  a slight  sense  of  constraint. 
They  had  not  met  since  their  Sunday  afternoon  walk  at 
Bellomont,  and  that  episode  was  still  so  vivid  to  her 
that  she  could  hardly  believe  him  to  be  less  conscious 
of  it.  But  his  greeting  expressed  no  more  than  the  satis- 
faction  which  every  pretty  woman  expects  to  see  re- 
flected in  masculine  eyes;  and  the  discovery,  if  distaste- 
ful to  her  vanity,  was  reassuring  to  her  nerves.  Between 
the  relief  of  her  escape  from  Trenor,  and  the  vague  ap- 
prehension of  her  meeting  with  Rosedale,  it  was  plea- 
sant to  rest  a moment  on  the  sense  of  complete  under- 
standing which  Lawrence  Selden’s  manner  always  con- 
veyed. 

“This  is  luck,”  he  said  smiling.  “I  was  wondering  if 
I should  be  able  to  have  a word  with  you  before  the 
special  snatches  us  away.  I came  with  Gerty  Farish,  and 
promised  not  to  let  her  miss  the  train,  but  I am  sure 
she  is  still  extracting  sentimental  solace  from  the  wed- 
ding presents.  She  appears  to  regard  their  number  and 
value  as  evidence  of  the  disinterested  affection  of  the 
contracting  parties.” 

There  was  not  the  least  trace  of  embarrassment  in 
his  voice,  and  as  he  spoke,  leaning  slightly  against  the 
jamb  of  the  window,  and  letting  his  eyes  rest  on  her  in 

[ 151  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  frank  enjoyment  of  her  grace,  she  felt  with  a faint 
chill  of  regret  that  he  had  gone  back  without  an  effort 
to  the  footing  on  which  they  had  stood  before  their 
last  talk  together.  Her  vanity  was  stung  by  the  sight 
of  his  unscathed  smile.  She  longed  to  be  to  him  some- 
thing more  than  a piece  of  sentient  prettiness,  a pass- 
ing diversion  to  his  eye  and  brain;  and  the  longing  be- 
trayed itself  in  her  reply. 

“Ah,”  she  said,  “I  envy  Gerty  that  power  she  has  of 
dressing  up  with  romance  all  our  ugly  and  prosaic  ar- 
rangements! I have  never  recovered  my  self-respect  since 
you  showed  me  how  poor  and  unimportant  my  ambi- 
tions were.” 

The  words  were  hardly  spoken  when  she  realized  their 
infelicity.  It  seemed  to  be  her  fate  to  appear  at  her 
worst  to  Selden. 

“I  thought,  on  the  contrary,”  he  returned  lightly, 
“that  I had  been  the  means  of  proving  they  were  more 
important  to  you  than  anything  else.” 

It  was  as  if  the  eager  current  of  her  being  had  been 
checked  by  a sudden  obstacle  which  drove  it  back  upon 
itself.  She  looked  at  him  helplessly,  like  a hurt  or  fright- 
ened child:  this  real  self  of  hers,  which  he  had  the  fac- 
ulty of  drawing  out  of  the  depths,  was  so  little  accus- 
tomed to  go  alone! 

The  appeal  of  her  helplessness  touched  in  him,  as  it 
always  did,  a latent  chord  of  inclination.  It  would  have 
[ 152  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

meant  nothing  to  him  to  discover  that  his  nearness  made 
her  more  brilliant,  but  this  glimpse  of  a twilight  mood 
to  which  he  alone  had  the  clue  seemed  once  more  to  set 
him  in  a world  apart  with  her. 

“At  least  you  can’t  think  worse  things  of  me  than  you 
say!”  she  exclaimed  with  a trembling  laugh;  but  before 
he  could  answer,  the  flow  of  comprehension  between 
them  was  abruptly  stayed  by  the  reappearance  of  Gus 
Trenor,  who  advanced  with  Mr.  Rosedale  in  his  wake. 

“Hang  it,  Lily,  I thought  you’d  given  me  the  slip: 
Rosedale  and  I have  been  hunting  all  over  for  you ! ” 

His  voice  had  a note  of  conjugal  familiarity:  Miss 
Bart  fancied  she  detected  in  Rosedale’s  eye  a twinkling 
perception  of  the  fact,  and  the  idea  turned  her  dislike 
of  him  to  repugnance. 

She  returned  his  profound  bow  with  a slight  nod, 
made  more  disdainful  by  the  sense  of  Selden’s  surprise 
that  she  should  number  Rosedale  among  her  acquain- 
tances. Trenor  had  turned  away,  and  his  companion  con- 
tinued to  stand  before  Miss  Bart,  alert  and  expectant, 
his  lips  parted  in  a smile  at  whatever  she  might  be 
about  to  say,  and  his  very  back  conscious  of  the  privi- 
lege of  being  seen  with  her. 

It  was  the  moment  for  tact;  for  the  quick  bridging 
over  of  gaps;  but  Selden  still  leaned  against  the  window, 
a detached  observer  of  the  scene,  and  under  the  spell  of 
his  observation  Lily  felt  herself  powerless  to  exert  her 

[ 153  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


usual  arts.  The  dread  of  Selden’s  suspecting  that  there 
was  any  need  for  her  to  propitiate  such  a man  as  Rose- 
dale  checked  the  trivial  phrases  of  politeness.  Rosedale 
still  stood  before  her  in  an  expectant  attitude,  and  she 
continued  to  face  him  in  silence,  her  glance  just  level 
with  his  polished  baldness.  The  look  put  the  finishing 
touch  to  what  her  silence  implied. 

He  reddened  slowly,  shifting  from  one  foot  to  the 
other,  fingered  the  plump  black  pearl  in  his  tie,  and 
gave  a nervous  twist  to  his  moustache;  then,  running  his 
eye  over  her,  he  drew  back,  and  said,  with  a side-glance 
at  Selden:  “Upon  my  soul,  I never  saw  a more  ripping 
get-up.  Is  that  the  last  creation  of  the  dress-maker  you 
go  to  see  at  the  Benedick  ? If  so,  I wonder  all  the  other 
women  don’t  go  to  her  too!” 

The  words  were  projected  sharply  against  Lily’s  si- 
lence, and  she  saw  in  a flash  that  her  own  act  had  given 
them  their  emphasis.  In  ordinary  talk  they  might  have 
passed  unheeded;  but  following  on  her  prolonged  pause 
they  acquired  a special  meaning.  She  felt,  without  lookr 
ing,  that  Selden  had  immediately  seized  it,  and  would 
inevitably  connect  the  allusion  with  her  Usit  to  himself 
The  consciousness  increased  her  irritation  against  Rose- 
dale,  but  also  her  feeling  that  now,  if  ever,  was  the  mo- 
ment to  propitiate  him,  hateful  as  it  was  to  do  so  ip 
Selden’s  presence. 

‘How  do  you  know  the  other  women  don’t  go  to  mv 

r 154  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

dress-makjr?”  she  returned.  “You  see  I ’m  not  afraid  to 
give  her  address  to  my  friends!” 

Her  glance  and  accent  so  plainly  included  Rosedale 
in  this  privileged  circle  that  his  small  eyes  puckered 
with  gratification,  and  a knowing  smile  drew  up  his 
moustache. 

“By  Jove,  you  needn’t  be!”  he  declared.  “You  could 
give  ’em  the  whole  outfit  and  win  at  a canter!” 

“Ah,  that’s  nice  of  you;  and  it  would  be  nicer  still 
if  you  would  carry  me  off  to  a quiet  corner,  and  get  me 
a glass  of  lemonade  or  some  innocent  drink  before  we 
all  have  to  rush  for  the  train.” 

She  turned  away  as  she  spoke,  letting  him  strut  at  her 
side  through  the  gathering  groups  on  the  terrace,  while 
every  nerve  in  her  throbbed  with  the  consciousness  of 
what  Selden  must  have  thought  of  the  scene. 

But  under  her  angry  sense  of  the  perverseness  of 
things,  and  the  light  surface  of  her  talk  with  Rosedale, 
a third  idea  persisted:  she  did  not  mean  to  leave  with- 
out an  attempt  to  discover  the  truth  about  Percy  Gryce. 
Chance,  or  perhaps  his  own  resolve,  had  kept  them  apart 
since  his  hasty  withdrawal  from  Bellomont;  but  Miss 
Bart  was  an  expert  in  making  the  most  of  the  unex- 
pected, and  the  distasteful  incidents  of  the  last  few  min- 
utes— the  revelation  to  Selden  of  precisely  that  part  of 
her  life  which  she  most  wished  him  to  ignore — increased 
her  longing  for  shelter,  for  escape  ffom  such  humiliating 
[ 1S5  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


contingencies.  Any  definite  situation  would  be  more  tol« 
erable  than  this  buffeting  of  chances,  which  kept  her  in 
an  attitude  of  uneasy  alertness  toward  every  possibibty 
of  life. 

Indooi-s  there  was  a general  sense  of  dispersal  in  the 
air,  as  of  an  audience  gathering  itself  up  for  departure 
after  the  principal  actors  had  left  the  stage;  but  among 
the  remaining  groups,  Lily  could  discover  neither  Gryce 
nor  the  youngest  Miss  Van  Osburgh.  That  both  should 
be  missing  struck  her  with  foreboding;  and  she  charmed 
Mr.  Rosedale  by  proposing  that  they  should  make  their 
way  to  the  conservatories  at  the  farther  end  of  the  house. 
I'here  were  just  enough  people  left  in  the  long  suite  of 
rooms  to  make  their  progress  conspicuous,  and  Lily  was 
aware  of  being  followed  by  looks  of  amusement  and  in- 
terrogation, which  glanced  off  as  harmlessly  from  her 
indifference  as  from  her  companion’s  self-satisfaction. 
She  cared  very  little  at  that  moment  about  being  seen 
with  Rosedale:  aU  her  thoughts  were  centred  on  the 
object  of  her  search.  The  latter,  however,  was  not  dis- 
coverable in  the  conservatories,  and  Lily,  oppressed  by 
a sudden  conriction  of  failure,  was  casting  about  for  a 
way  to  rid  herself  of  her  now  superfluous  companion, 
when  they  came  upon  Mrs.  Van  Osburgh,  flushed  and 
exhausted,  but  beaming  vith  the  consciousness  of  duty 
performed. 

She  glanced  at  them  a moment  with  the  benign  but 

[ 156  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


vacant  eye  of  the  tired  hostess,  to  whom  her  guests  have 
become  mere  whirling  spots  in  a kaleidoscope  of  fatigue; 
then  her  attention  became  suddenly  fixed,  and  she  seized 
on  Miss  Bart  with  a confidential  gesture. 

“My  dear  Lily,  I have  n’t  had  time  for  a word  with 
you,  and  now  I suppose  you  are  just  off.  Have  you  seen 
Evie?  She ’s  been  looking  everywhere  for  you:  she  wanted 
to  tell  you  her  little  secret;  but  I daresay  you  have 
guessed  it  already.  The  engagement  is  not  to  be  an- 
nounced till  next  week — but  you  are  such  a friend  of 
Mr.  Gryce’s  that  they  both  wished  you  to  be  the  first  to 
know  of  their  happiness.” 


IX 

IN  Mrs.  Peniston’s  youth,  fashion  had  returned  to  town 
in  October;  therefore  on  the  tenth  day  of  the  month 
the  blinds  of  her  Fifth  Avenue  residence  were  drawn  up, 
and  the  eyes  of  the  Dying  Gladiator  in  bronze  who  oc- 
cupied the  drawing-room  window  resumed  their  survey 
of  that  deserted  thoroughfare. 

The  first  two  weeks  after  her  return  represented  to 
Mrs.  Peniston  the  domestic  equivalent  of  a religious  re^ 
treat.  She  “went  through”  the  linen  and  blankets  in  the 
precise  spirit  of  the  penitent  exploring  the  inner  folds  of 
conscience;  she  sought  for  moths  as  the  stricken  soul 
seeks  for  lurking  infirmities.  The  topmost  shelf  of  every 

[ 157  ] 

I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


closet  was  made  to  yield  up  its  secret,  cellar  and  coal-bin 
were  probed  to  their  darkest  depths  and,  as  a final  stage 
in  the  lustral  rites,  the  entire  house  was  swathed  in  peni- 
tential white  and  deluged  with  expiatory  soapsuds. 

It  was  on  this  phase  of  the  proceedings  that  Miss  Bart 
entered  on  the  afternoon  of  her  return  from  the  Van  Os- 
burgh  wedding.  The  journey  back  to  town  had  not  been 
calculated  to  soothe  her  nerves.  Though  Evie  Van  Os- 
burgh’s  engagement  was  still  officially  a secret,  it  was  one 
of  which  the  innumerable  intimate  friends  of  the  family 
were  already  possessed;  and  the  trainful  of  returning 
guests  buzzed  with  allusions  and  anticipations.  Lily  was 
acutely  aware  of  her  own  part  in  this  drama  of  innuendo : 
she  knew  the  exact  quality  of  the  amusement  the  situa- 
tion evoked.  The  crude  forms  in  which  her  friends  took 
their  pleasui'e  included  a loud  enjoyment  of  such  com- 
plications: the  zest  of  surprising  destiny  in  the  act  of 
playing  a practical  joke.  Lily  knew  well  enough  how  to 
bear  heiself  in  difficult  situations.  She  had,  to  a shade, 
the  exact  manner  between  victory  and  defeat:  every  in- 
sinuation was  shed  without  an  effort  by  the  bright  in- 
difference of  her  manner.  But  she  was  beginning  to  feel 
the  strain  of  the  attitude;  the  reaction  was  more  rapid, 
and  she  lapsed  to  a deeper  self-disgust. 

As  was  always  the  case  with  her,  this  moral  repulsion 
found  a physical  outlet  in  a quickened  distaste  for  her 
suiToundings.  She  revolted  from  the  complacent  ugliness 
[ 168  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


^ of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  black  walnut,  from  tlie  slippery  gloss 
of  the  vestibule  tiles,  and  the  mingled  odour  of  sapolio 
and  furniture-polish  that  met  her  at  the  door. 

The  stairs  were  still  carpetless,  and  on  the  way  up  to 
her  room  she  was  arrested  on  the  landing  by  an  encroach- 
ing tide  of  soapsuds.  Gathering  up  her  skirts,  she  drew 
aside  with  an  impatient  gesture;  and  as  she  did  so  she 
had  the  odd  sensation  of  having  already  found  herself 
in  the  same  situation  but  in  different  surroundings.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  was  again  descending  the  stair- 
case from  Selden’s  rooms;  and  looking  down  to  remon- 
strate with  the  dispenser  of  the  soapy  flood,  she  found 
herself  met  by  a lifted  stare  which  had  once  before  con- 
fronted her  under  similar  circumstances.  It  was  the  char- 
woman of  the  Benedick  who,  resting  on  crimson  elbows, 
examined  her  with  the  same  unflinching  curiosity,  the 
same  apparent  reluctance  to  let  her  pass.  On  this  occa- 
sion, however.  Miss  Bart  was  on  her  own  ground. 

“Don’t  you  see  that  I wish  to  go  by.?  Please  move 
your  pail,”  she  said  sharply. 

The  woman  at  first  seemed  not  to  hear;  then,  without 
a word  of  excuse,  she  pushed  back  her  pail  and  dragged 
a wet  floor-cloth  across  the  landing,  keeping  her  eyes 
fixed  on  Lily  while  the  latter  swept  by.  It  was  insuffer- 
able that  Mrs.  Peniston  should  have  such  creatures  about 
the  house;  and  Lily  entered  her  room  resolved  that  the 
woman  should  be  dismissed  that  evening. 

[ 159  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Mrs.  Peniston,  however,  was  at  the  moment  inax:ces. 
sible  to  remonstrance:  since  early  morning  she  had  been 
shut  up  with  her  maid,  going  over  her  furs,  a process 
which  formed  the  culminating  episode  in  the  drama  of 
household  renovation.  In  the  evening  also  Lily  found 
herself  alone,  for  her  aunt,  who  rarely  dined  out,  had  re- 
sponded to  the  summons  of  a Van  Alstyne  cousin  who 
was  passing  through  town.  The  house,  in  its  state  of  un- 
natural immaculateness  and  order,  was  as  dreary  as  a 
tomb,  and  as  Lily,  turning  from  her  brief  repast  between 
shrouded  sideboards,  wandered  into  the  newly-uncovered 
glare  of  the  drawing-room  she  felt  as  though  she  were 
buried  alive  in  the  stifling  limits  of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  ex- 
istence. 

She  usually  contrived  to  avoid  being  at  home  during 
the  season  of  domestic  renewal.  On  the  present  occasion, 
however,  a variety  of  reasons  had  combined  to  bring  her 
to  town ; and  foremost  among  them  was  the  fact  that  she 
had  fewer  invitations  than  usual  for  the  autumn.  She  had 
so  long  been  accustomed  to  pass  from  one  country-house 
to  another,  till  the  close  of  the  holidays  brought  her 
friends  to  town,  that  the  unfilled  gaps  of  time  confront- 
ing her  produced  a sharp  sense  of  waning  popularity.  It 
was  as  she  had  said  to  Selden — people  were  tired  of  her. 
They  would  welcome  her  in  a new  character,  but  as  ^liss 
Bart  they  knew  her  by  heart.  She  knew  herself  by  heart 
too,  and  was  sick  of  the  old  story.  Tliere  were  moments 
[ 160  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


when  she  longed  blindly  for  anything  different,  anything 
strAnge,  remote  and  untried;  but  the  utmost  reach  of 
her  imagination  did  not  go  beyond  picturing  her  usual 
life  in  a new  setting.  She  could  not  figure  herself  as  any° 
where  but  in  a drawing-room,  diffijsing  elegance  as  a 
flower  sheds  perfiime. 

Meanwhile,  as  October  advanced  she  had  to  face  the 
alternative  of  returning  to  the  Trenors  or  joining  her 
aunt  in  town.  Even  the  desolating  dulness  of  New  York 
in  October,  and  the  soapy  discomforts  of  Mrs.  Peniston’s 
interior,  seemed  preferable  to  what  might  await  her  at 
Bellomont;  and  with  an  air  of  heroic  devotion  she  an* 
nounced  her  intention  of  remaining  with  her  aunt  till 
the  holidays. 

Sacrifices  of  this  nature  are  sometimes  received  with 
feelings  as  mixed  as  those  which  actuate  them ; and  Mrs. 
Peniston  remarked  to  her  confidential  maid  that,  if  any 
of  the  family  were  to  be  with  her  at  such  a crisis  (though 
for  forty  years  she  had  been  thought  competent  to  see  to 
the  hanging  of  her  own  curtains),  she  would  certainly 
have  prefen’ed  Miss  Grace  to  Miss  Lily.  Grace  Stepney 
was  an  obscure  co”'’in,  of  adaptable  manners  and  vica- 
rious interests,  who  “ran  in”  to  sit  with  Mrs.  Peniston 
when  Lily  dined  out  too  continuously;  who  played  be- 
zique,  picked  up  dropped  stitches,  read  out  the  deaths 
from  the  Times,  and  sincerely  admired  the  purple  satin 
drawing-room  curtains,  the  Dying  Gladiator  in  the  win- 

I 161  J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

dow,  and  the  seven-by-flve  painting  of  Niagara  which 
represented  the  one  artistic  excess  of  Mr.  Peniston’s  tem- 
perate career. 

Mrs.  Peniston,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  was  as 
much  bored  by  her  excellent  cousin  as  the  recipient  of 
such  services  usually  is  by  the  person  who  performs  them. 
She  greatly  preferred  the  brilliant  and  unreliable  Lily, 
who  did  not  know  one  end  of  a crochet-needle  from  the 
other,  and  had  frequently  wounded  her  susceptibilities 
by  suggesting  that  the  drawing-room  should  be  “done 
over.”  But  when  it  came  to  hunting  for  missing  napkins, 
or  helping  to  decide  whether  the  backstairs  needed  re- 
carpeting, Grace’s  judgment  was  certainly  sounder  than 
Lily’s : not  to  mention  the  fact  that  the  latter  resented 
the  smell  of  beeswax  and  broAvn  soap,  and  behaved  as 
though  she  thought  a house  ought  to  keep  clean  of  it- 
self, without  extraneous  assistance. 

Seated  under  the  cheerless  blaze  of  the  dra\nng-room 
chandelier — Mrs.  Peniston  never  lit  the  lamps  unless 
there  was  “company”  — Lily  seemed  to  watch  her  own 
figure  retreating  down  vistas  of  neutral-tinted  dulness  to 
a middle  age  like  Grace  Stepney’s.  When  she  ceased  to 
amuse  Judy  Trenor  and  her  friends  she  would  have  to 
fall  back  on  amusing  Mrs.  Peniston ; whichever  way  she 
looked  she  saw  only  a future  of  servitude  to  the  whims 
of  others,  never  the  possibility  of  asserting  her  own  eager 
ffvdividuality. 


[ 162  3 


THE  HOUSE  OP  MIRTH 


A ring  at  the  door-bell,  sounding  emphatically  through 
the  empty  house,  roused  her  suddenly  to  the  extent  of 
her  boredom.  It  was  as  though  all  the  weariness  of  the 
past  months  had  culminated  in  the  vacuity  of  that  in- 
terminable evening.  If  only  the  ring  meant  a summons 
from  the  outer  world — a token  that  she  was  still  re- 
membered and  wanted! 

After  some  delay  a parlour-maid  presented  herself  with 
the  announcement  that  there  was  a person  outside  who 
was  asking  to  see  Miss  Bart;  and  on  Lily’s  pressing  for 
a more  specific  description,  she  added: 

“It ’s  Mrs.  HalFen,  Miss;  she  won’t  say  what  she  wants.” 

Lily,  to  whom  the  name  conveyed  nothing,  opened 
the  door  upon  a woman  in  a battered  bonnet,  who  stood 
firmly  planted  under  the  hall-light.  The  glare  of  the  un- 
shaded gas  shone  familiarly  on  her  pock-marked  face  and 
the  reddish  baldness  visible  through  thin  strands  of  straw- 
coloured  hair.  Lily  looked  at  the  char-woman  in  surprise. 

“Do  you  wish  to  see  me.?”  she  asked. 

“I  should  like  to  say  a word  to  you.  Miss.”  The  tone 
was  neither  aggressive  nor  conciliatory:  it  revealed  no- 
thing of  the  speaker’s  errand.  Nevertheless,  some  pre- 
cautionary instinct  warned  Lily  to  withdraw  beyond  ear- 
shot of  the  hovering  parlour-maid. 

She  signed  to  Mrs.  Haffen  to  follow  her  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  closed  the  door  when  they  had  en- 
tered. 


[ 163  i 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“MTat  is  it  that  you  wish?”  she  enquired. 

The  char-woman,  after  the  manner  of  her  kind,  stood 
with  her  arms  folded  in  her  shawl.  Unwinding  the  latter, 
she  produced  a small  parcel  wrapped  in  dirty  newspaper. 

“I  have  something  here  that  you  might  like  to  see. 
Miss  Bart.”  She  spoke  the  name  with  an  unpleasant  em- 
phasis, as  though  her  knowing  it  made  a part  of  her 
reason  for  being  there.  To  Lily  the  intonation  sounded 
like  a threat. 

“You  have  found  something  belonging  to  me?”  she 
asked,  extending  her  hand. 

Mrs.  Haffen  drew  back.  “Well,  if  it  comes  to  that,  I 
guess  it’s  mine  as  much  as  anybody’s,”  she  returned. 

Lily  looked  at  her  perplexedly.  She  was  sure,  now, 
that  her  visitor’s  manner  conveyed  a threat ; but,  expert 
as  she  was  in  certain  directions,  there  w'as  nothing  in  her 
experience  to  prepare  her  for  the  exact  significance  of 
the  present  scene.  She  felt,  however,  that  it  must  be 
ended  as  promptly  as  possible. 

“I  don’t  understand;  if  this  parcel  is  not  mine,  why 
have  you  asked  for  me?” 

The  woman  was  unabashed  by  the  question.  She  was 
evidently  prepared  to  answer  it,  but  like  all  her  class 
she  had  to  go  a long  way  back  to  make  a beginning,  and 
it  was  only  after  a pause  that  she  replied:  “My  husband 
was  janitor  to  the  Benedick  till  the  first  of  the  month; 
since  then  he  can’t  get  nothing  to  do.” 

[ 164  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lily  remained  silent  and  she  continued:  “It  was  n’t  no 
fault  of  our  own,  neither:  the  agent  had  another  man 
he  wanted  the  place  for,  and  we  was  put  out,  bag  and 
baggage,  just  to  suit  his  fancy.  I had  a long  sickness 
last  winter,  and  an  operation  that  ate  up  all  we ’d  put 
by;  and  it’s  hard  for  me  and  the  children,  Haffen  being 
so  long  out  of  a job.” 

After  all,  then,  she  had  come  only  to  ask  Miss  Bart 
to  find  a place  for  her  husband;  or,  more  probably,  to 
seek  the  young  lady’s  intervention  with  Mrs.  Peniston. 
Lily  had  such  an  air  of  always  getting  what  she  wanted 
that  she  was  used  to  being  appealed  to  as  an  intermedi- 
ary, and,  relieved  of  her  vague  apprehension,  she  took 
refuge  in  the  conventional  formula. 

“I  am  sorry  you  have  been  in  trouble,”  she  said. 

“Oh,  that  we  have.  Miss,  and  it’s  on’y  just  beginning. 
If  on’y  we’d ’a  got  another  situation — but  the  agent, 
he ’s  dead  against  us.  It  ain’t  no  fault  of  ours,  neither, 
but ” 

At  this  point  Lily’s  impatience  overcame  her.  “If  you 
have  anything  to  say  to  me ” she  interposed. 

The  woman’s  resentment  of  the  rebuff  seemed  to  spur 
her  lagging  ideas. 

“Yes,  Miss;  I ’m  coming  to  that,”  she  said.  She  paused 
again,  with  her  eyes  on  Lily,  and  then  continued,  in  a 
tone  of  diffuse  narrative:  “When  we  was  at  the  Benedick 
I had  charge  of  some  of  the  gentlemen’s  rooms;  least- 
[ 165  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ways,  I swep’  ’em  out  on  Saturdays.  Some  of  the  gentle- 
men got  the  greatest  sight  of  letters:  I never  saw  the 
like  of  it.  Their  waste-paper  baskets ’d  be  fairly  brim- 
ming, and  papers  falling  over  on  the  floor.  Maybe  havin’ 
so  many  is  how  they  get  so  careless.  Some  of  ’em  is  worse 
than  others.  Mr.  Selden,  Mr.  Lawrence  Selden,  he  was 
always  one  of  the  carefullest:  burnt  his  letters  in  winter, 
and  tore  ’em  in  little  bits  in  summer.  But  sometimes 
he’d  have  so  many  he’d  just  bunch  ’em  together,  the 
way  the  others  did,  and  tear  the  lot  thi'ough  once — 
like  this.” 

While  she  spoke  she  had  loosened  the  string  from  the 
parcel  in  her  hand,  and  now  she  drew  forth  a letter 
which  she  laid  on  the  table  between  Miss  Bart  and  her- 
self. As  she  had  said,  the  letter  was  tom  in  two;  but 
with  a rapid  gesture  she  laid  the  tom  edges  together 
and  smoothed  out  the  page. 

A wave  of  indignation  swept  over  Lily.  She  felt  her- 
self in  the  presence  of  something  vile,  as  yet  but  dimly 
conjectured — the  kind  of  vileness  of  which  people  whis- 
pered, but  which  she  had  never  thought  of  as  touching 
her  own  life.  She  drew  back  with  a motion  of  disgust, 
but  her  withdrawal  was  checked  by  a sudden  discovery: 
under  the  glare  of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  chandelier  she  had 
recognized  the  hand-wTiting  of  the  letter.  It  was  a large 
disjointed  hand,  with  a flourish  of  masculinity  which  but 
slightly  disguised  its  rambling  weakness,  and  the  words, 
[ 166  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


scrawled  in  heavy  ink  on  pale-tinted  note-paper,  smote 
on  Lily’s  ear  as  though  she  had  heard  them  spoken. 

At  first  she  did  not  grasp  the  full  import  of  the  situ- 
ation. She  understood  only  that  before  her  lay  a letter 
written  by  Bertha  Dorset,  and  addressed,  presumably, 
to  Lawrence  Selden.  There  was  no  date,  but  the  black- 
ness of  the  ink  proved  the  writing  to  he  comparatively 
recent.  The  packet  in  Mrs.  Haffen’s  hand  doubtless  con- 
tained more  letters  of  the  same  kind — a dozen,  Lily 
conjectured  from  its  thickness.  The  letter  before  her  was 
short,  but  its  few  words,  which  had  leapt  into  her  brain 
before  she  was  conscious  of  reading  them,  told  a long 
history — a history  over  which,  for  the  last  four  years, 
the  friends  of  the  writer  had  smiled  and  shrugged,  view- 
ing it  merely  as  one  among  the  countless  “good  situa- 
tions” of  the  mundane  comedy.  Now  the  other  side  pre- 
sented itself  to  Lily,  the  volcanic  nether  side  of  the  sur- 
face over  which  conjecture  and  innuendo  glide  so  lightly 
ti’l  the  first  fissure  turns  their  whisper  to  a shriek.  Lily 
knew  that  there  is  nothing  society  resents  so  much  as 
having  given  its  protection  to  those  who  have  not  known 
how  to  profit  by  it:  it  is  for  having  betrayed  its  conni- 
vance that  the  body  social  punishes  the  offender  who  is 
found  out.  And  in  this  case  there  was  no  doubt  of  the 
issue.  The  code  of  Lily’s  world  decreed  that  a woman’s 
husband  should  be  the  only  judge  of  her  conduct:  she 
was  technically  above  suspicion  while  she  had  the  shelter 

[ 167  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


of  his  approval,  or  even  of  his  indifference.  But  with  a 
man  of  George  Dorset’s  temper  there  could  be  no  thought 
of  condonation — the  possessor  of  his  vdfe’s  letters  could 
overthrow  with  a touch  the  whole  structure  of  her  exis- 
tence. And  into  what  hands  Bertha  Dorset’s  secret  had 
been  delivered!  For  a moment  the  irony  of  the  coinci- 
dence tinged  Lily’s  disgust  with  a confused  sense  of  tri- 
umph. But  the  disgust  prevailed — all  her  instinctive  re- 
sistances, of  taste,  of  training,  of  blind  inherited  scruples, 
rose  against  the  other  feeling.  Her  strongest  sense  was 
one  of  personal  contamination. 

She  moved  away,  as  though  to  put  as  much  distance 
as  possible  between  herself  and  her  visitor.  “I  know  no- 
thing of  these  letters,”  she  said;  “I  have  no  idea  why 
you  have  brought  them  here.” 

Mrs.  Haffen  faced  her  steadily.  “I’ll  tell  you  whv. 
Miss.  I brought  ’em  to  you  to  sell,  because  I ain’t  got  no 
other  way  of  raising  money,  and  if  we  don’t  pay  our  rent 
by  tomoiTow  night  we  ’ll  be  put  out.  I never  done  anj  - 
thin’  of  the  kind  before,  and  if  you ’d  speak  to  Mr.  Selden 
or  to  Mr.  Rosedale  about  getting  Haffen  taken  on  again 
at  the  Benedick — I seen  you  talking  to  IMr.  Rosedale 
on  the  steps  that  day  you  come  out  of  Mr.  Selden’s 
rooms ” 

The  blood  rushed  to  Lily’s  forehead.  She  understood 
now — Mrs.  Haffen  supposed  her  to  be  the  writer  of  the 
letters.  In  the  first  leap  of  her  anger  she  was  about  to 
[ 168  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ring  and  order  the  woman  out;  but  an  obscure  impulse 
restrained  her.  The  mention  of  Selden’s  name  had  started 
a new  train  of  thought.  Bertha  Dorset’s  letters  were  no- 
thing to  her — they  might  go  where  the  current  of  chance 
carried  them!  But  Selden  was  inextricably  involved  in 
their  fate.  Men  do  not,  at  worst,  suffer  much  from  such 
exposure;  and  in  this  instance  the  flash  of  divination 
which  had  carried  the  meaning  of  the  letters  to  Lily’s 
brain  had  revealed  also  that  they  were  appeals — repeated 
and  therefore  probably  unanswered — for  the  renewal  of 
a tie  which  time  had  evidently  relaxed.  Nevertheless,  the 
fact  that  the  correspondence  had  been  allowed  to  fall 
into  strange  hands  would  convict  Selden  of  negligence  in 
a matter  where  the  world  holds  it  least  pardonable;  and 
there  were  graver  risks  to  consider  where  a man  of  Dor- 
set’s  ticklish  balance  was  concerned. 

If  she  weighed  all  these  things  it  was  unconsciously: 
she  was  aware  only  of  feeling  that  Selden  would  wish  the 
letters  rescued,  and  that  therefore  she  must  obtain  pos- 
session of  them.  Beyond  that  her  mind  did  not  travel. 
She  had,  indeed,  a quick  vision  of  returning  the  packet 
to  Bertha  Dorset,  and  of  the  opportunities  the  restitu- 
tion offered;  but  this  thought  lit  up  abysses  from  which 
she  shrank  back  ashamed. 

Meanwhile  Mrs.  Haffen,  prompt  to  perceive  her  hesi- 
tation, had  already  opened  the  packet  and  ranged  its 
contents  on  the  table.  All  the  letters  had  been  pieced 

[ 169  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


together  with  strips  of  thin  paper.  Some  were  in  small 
fragments,  the  others  merely  torn  in  half.  Though  there 
were  not  many,  thus  spread  out  they  nearly  covered  the 
table.  Lily’s  glance  fell  on  a word  here  and  there — then 
she  said  in  a low  voice:  “What  do  you  wish  me  to  pay 
you.?” 

Mrs.  Haffen’s  face  reddened  with  satisfaction.  It  was 
clear  that  the  young  lady  was  badly  frightened,  and 
Mrs.  Haffen  was  the  woman  to  make  the  most  of  such 
fears.  Anticipating  an  easier  victory  than  she  had  fore- 
seen, she  named  an  exorbitant  sum. 

But  Miss  Bart  showed  herself  a less  ready  prey  than 
might  have  been  expected  from  her  imprudent  opening. 
She  refused  to  pay  the  price  named,  and  after  a mo- 
ment’s hesitation,  met  it  by  a counter-offer  of  half  the 
amount. 

Mrs.  Haffen  immediately  stiffened.  Her  hand  travelled 
toward  the  outspread  letteis,  and  folding  them  slowly, 
she  made  as  though  to  restore  them  to  their  wrapping. 

“I  guess  they’re  worth  more  to  you  than  to  me.  Miss, 
but  the  poor  has  got  to  live  as  weU  as  the  rich,”  she  ob- 
i'crved  sententiously. 

Lily  was  throbbing  with  fear,  but  the  insinuation  for* 
titled  her  resistance. 

“You  are  mistaken,”  she  said  indifferently.  “I  have 
offered  all  I am  willing  to  give  for  the  letters;  but  there 
may  be  other  ways  of  getting  them.” 

f 170  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Mrs.  HafFen  raised  a suspicious  glance:  she  was  too 
experienced  not  to  know  that  the  traffic  she  was  engaged 
in  had  perils  as  great  as  its  rewards,  and  she  had  a vi- 
sion of  the  elaborate  machinery  of  revenge  which  a word 
of  this  commanding  young  lady’s  might  set  in  motion. 

She  applied  the  comer  of  her  shawl  to  her  eyes,  and 
muramred  through  it  that  no  good  came  of  bearing  too 
hard  on  the  poor,  but  that  for  her  part  she  had  never 
been  mixed  up  in  such  a business  before,  and  that  on  her 
honour  as  a Christian  all  she  and  Haffen  had  thought  of 
was  that  the  letters  mustn’t  go  any  farther. 

Lily  stood  motionless,  keeping  between  herself  and  the 
char-woman  the  gi’eatest  distance  compatible  with  the 
need  of  speaking  in  low  tones.  The  idea  of  bargaining 
for  the  letters  was  intolerable  to  her,  but  she  knew  that, 
if  she  appeared  to  weaken,  Mrs.  Haffen  would  at  once 
increase  her  original  demand. 

She  could  never  afterward  recall  how  long  the  duel 
lasted,  or  what  was  the  decisive  stroke  which  finally,  after 
a lapse  of  time  recorded  in  minutes  by  the  clock,  in  hours 
by  the  precipitate  beat  of  her  pulses,  put  her  in  posses- 
sion of  the  letters;  she  knew  only  that  the  door  had 
finally  closed,  and  that  she  stood  alone  with  the  packet 
in  her  hand. 

She  had  no  idea  of  reading  the  letters ; even  to  unfold 
Mrs.  Haffen’s  dirty  newspaper  would  have  seemed  de- 
gi-ading.  But  what  did  she  intend  to  do  with  its  con- 

[ m ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


tents  ? The  recipient  of  the  letters  had  meant  to  destroy 
them,  and  it  was  her  duty  to  carry  out  his  intention.  She 
had  no  right  to  keep  them — to  do  so  was  to  lessen  what- 
ever merit  lay  in  having  secured  their  possession.  But  how 
destroy  them  so  effectually  that  there  should  be  no  sec- 
ond risk  of  their  falling  in  such  hands?  Mrs.  Peniston’s 
icy  drawing-room  grate  shone  with  a forbidding  lustre: 
the  fire,  like  the  lamps,  was  never  lit  except  when  there 
was  company. 

Miss  Bart  was  turning  to  carry  the  letters  upstairs 
when  she  heard  the  opening  of  the  outer  door,  and  her 
aunt  entered  the  drawing-room.  ]Mrs.  Peniston  was  a 
small  plump  woman,  with  a colourless  skin  lined  with 
trivial  wrinkles.  Her  grey  hair  was  arranged  with  pre- 
cision, and  her  clothes  looked  excessively  new  and  yet 
slightly  old-fashioned.  They  were  always  black  and  tightly 
fitting,  vith  an  expensive  glitter:  she  was  the  kind  of 
woman  who  wore  jet  at  breakfast.  Lily  had  never  seen 
her  when  she  was  not  cuirassed  in  shining  black,  with 
small  tight  boots,  and  an  air  of  being  packed  and  ready 
to  start;  yet  she  never  started. 

She  looked  about  the  drawing-room  with  an  expression 
of  minute  scrutiny.  “ I saw  a streak  of  Kght  under  one  of 
the  blinds  as  I drove  up:  it’s  extraordinary  that  I can 
never  teach  that  woman  to  draw  them  down  evenly.” 

Having  corrected  the  irregularity,  she  seated  herself 
on  one  of  the  glossy  pui’ple  arm-chairs ; iMrs.  Peniston  al- 

r 1T2  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

ways  sat  on  a chair,  never  in  it.  Then  she  turned  her 
glance  to  Miss  Bart. 

“My  dear,  you  look  tired;  I suppose  it’s  the  excite- 
ment of  the  wedding.  Cornelia  Van  Alstyne  was  full  of  it: 
Molly  was  there,  and  Gerty  Farish  ran  in  for  a minute  to  . 
tell  us  about  it.  I think  it  was  odd,  their  serving  melons 
before  the  consomme:  a wedding  breakfast  should  always 
begin  with  consomme.  Molly  didn’t  care  for  the  brides- 
maids’ dresses.  She  had  it  straight  from  Julia  Melson 
that  they  cost  three  hundred  dollars  apiece  at  Celeste’s, 
but  she  says  they  did  n’t  look  it.  I ’m  glad  you  decided  not 
to  be  a bridesmaid;  that  shade  of  salmon-pink  wouldn’t 
have  suited  you.” 

Mrs.  Peniston  delighted  in  discussing  the  minutest  de- 
tails of  festivities  in  which  she  had  not  taken  part.  No- 
thing would  have  induced  her  to  undergo  the  exertion 
and  fatigue  of  attending  the  Van  Osburgh  wedding,  but 
so  great  was  her  interest  in  the  event  that,  having  heard 
two  versions  of  it,  she  now  prepared  to  extract  a third 
from  her  niece.  Lily,  however,  had  been  deplorably  care- 
less in  noting  the  particulars  of  the  entertainment.  She 
had  failed  to  observe  the  colour  of  Mrs.  Van  Osburgh’s 
gown,  and  could  not  even  say  whether  the  old  Van  Os- 
burgh Sevres  had  been  used  at  the  bride’s  table:  Mrs. 
Peniston,  in  short,  found  that  she  was  of  more  service  as 
a listener  than  as  a narrator. 

“Really,  Lily,  I don’t  see  why  you  took  the  trouble  to 

[ 173  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

go  to  the  wedding,  if  you  don’t  remember  what  happened 
or  whom  you  saw  there.  AVhen  I was  a girl  I used  to  keep 
the  menu  of  every  dinner  I went  to,  and  ^vrite  the  names 
of  the  people  on  the  back;  and  I never  threw  away  my 
cotillion  favours  till  after  your  uncle’s  death,  when  it 
seemed  unsuitable  to  have  so  many  coloured  things  about 
the  house.  I had  a whole  closet-full,  I remember;  and  I 
can  tell  to  this  day  what  balls  I got  them  at.  Molly  Van 
Alstyne  reminds  me  of  what  I was  at  that  age;  it’s  won- 
derful how  she  notices.  She  was  able  to  tell  her  mother 
exactly  how  the  wedding-dress  was  cut,  and  we  knew  at 
once,  from  the  fold  in  the  back,  that  it  must  have  come 
from  Paquin.” 

Mrs.  Peniston  rose  abruptly,  and,  advancing  to  the 
ormulu  clock  surmounted  by  a helmeted  Minerva,  which 
throned  on  the  chimney-piece  between  two  malachite 
vases,  passed  her  lace  handkerchief  between  the  helmet 
and  its  visor. 

“I  knew  it — the  parlour-maid  never  dusts  there!”  she 
exclaimed,  triumphantly  displaying  a minute  spot  on 
the  handkerchief;  then,  reseating  herself,  she  went  on: 
“IVIolly  thought  Mrs.  Dorset  the  best-dressed  woman  at 
the  wedding.  I’ve  no  doubt  her  dress  did  cost  more  than 
any  one  else’s,  but  I can’t  quite  like  the  idea — a combina- 
tion of  sable  and  point  de  Milan.  It  seems  she  goes  to  a 
new  man  in  Paris,  who  won’t  take  an  order  till  his  client 
has  spent  a day  wdth  him  at  his  \'illa  at  Neuilly'.  He  says 
[ 174  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


he  must  study  his  subject’s  home  life — a most  peculiar 
arrangement,  I should  say!  But  Mrs.  Dorset  told  Molly 
about  it  herself:  she  said  the  villa  was  full  of  the  most 
exquisite  things  and  she  was  really  sorry  to  leave.  Molly 
said  she  never  saw  her  looking  better;  she  was  in  tremen- 
dous spirits,  and  said  she  had  made  a match  between 
Evie  Van  Osburgh  and  Percy  Gryce.  She  really  seems  to 
have  a very  good  influence  on  young  men.  I hear  she  is  in- 
teresting herself  now  in  that  silly  Silverton  boy,  who  has 
had  his  head  turned  by  Carry  Fisher,  and  has  been  gam- 
bling so  dreadfully.  Well,  as  I was  saying,  Evie  is  really  en- 
gaged : Mrs.  Dorset  had  her  to  stay  with  Percy  Gryce,  and 
managed  it  all,  and  Grace  Van  Osburgh  is  in  the  seventh 
heaven — she  had  almost  despaired  of  marrying  Evie.” 

Mrs.  Peniston  again  paused,  but  this  time  her  scmtiny 
addressed  itself,  not  to  the  furniture,  but  to  her  niece. 

“Cornelia  Van  Alstyne  was  so  surprised:  she  had  heard 
that  you  were  to  marry  young  Gryce.  She  saw  the  Weth- 
eralls  just  after  they  had  stopped  with  you  at  Bellomont, 
and  Alice  Wetherall  was  quite  sure  there  was  an  engage- 
ment. She  said  that  when  Mr.  Gryce  left  unexpectedly 
one  morning,  they  all  thought  he  had  rushed  to  town 
tor  the  ring.” 

Lily  rose  and  moved  toward  the  door. 

“I  believe  I am  tired:  I think  I will  go  to  bed,”  she 
said ; and  Mrs.  Peniston,  suddenly  distracted  by  the  dis- 
covery that  the  easel  sustaining  the  late  Mr.  Peniston’s 

[ ITS  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


crayon-portrait  was  not  exactly  in  line  with  the  sofa  in 
front  of  it,  presented  an  absent-minded  brow  to  her  kiss. 

In  her  own  room  Lily  turned  up  the  gas-jet  and  glanced 
toward  the  grate.  It  was  as  brilliantly  polished  as  the 
one  below,  but  here  at  least  she  could  bum  a few  papers 
with  less  risk  of  incurring  her  aunt’s  disapproval.  She 
made  no  immediate  motion  to  do  so,  however,  but  drop- 
ping into  a chair  looked  wearily  about  her.  Her  room 
was  large  and  comfortably-fiiraished — it  was  the  envy 
and  admiration  of  poor  Grace  Stepney,  who  boarded; 
but,  contrasted  with  the  light  tints  and  luxurious  ap- 
pointments of  the  guest-rooms  where  so  many  weeks  of 
Lily’s  existence  were  spent,  it  seemed  as  dreary  as  a 
prison.  The  monumental  wardrobe  and  bedstead  of  black 
walnut  had  migrated  from  Mr.  Peniston’s  bedroom,  and 
the  magenta  “flock”  wall-paper,  of  a pattern  dear  to 
the  early  ’sixties,  was  hung  with  large  steel  engravings 
of  an  anecdotic  character.  Lily  had  tried  to  mitigate 
this  charmless  background  by  a few  frivolous  touches,  in 
the  shape  of  a lace-decked  toilet  table  and  a little  painted 
desk  surmounted  by  photographs;  but  the  futility  of  the 
attempt  stmck  her  as  she  looked  about  the  room.  MTiat 
a contrast  to  the  subtle  elegance  of  the  setting  she  had 
pictured  for  herself — an  apartment  which  should  sur- 
pass the  complicated  luxury  of  her  friends’  surroundings 
by  the  whole  extent  of  that  artistic  sensibility  which 
made  her  feel  herself  their  superior;  in  which  every  tint 
[ 176  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  line  should  combine  to  enhance  her  beauty  and  give 
distinction  to  her  leisure ! Once  more  the  haunting  sense 
of  physical  ugliness  was  intensified  by  her  mental  depres- 
sion, so  that  each  piece  of  the  offending  furniture  seemed 
to  thrust  forth  its  most  aggressive  angle. 

Her  aunt’s  words  had  told  her  nothing  new;  but  they 
had  revived  the  vision  of  Bertha  Dorset,  smiling,  flat- 
tered, victorious,  holding  her  up  to  ridicule  by  insinua- 
tions intelligible  to  every  member  of  their  little  group. 
The  thought  of  the  ridicule  struck  deeper  than  any 
other  sensation;  Lily  knew  every  turn  of  the  allusive 
jargon  which  could  flay  its  victims  without  the  shedding 
of  blood.  Her  cheek  burned  at  the  recollection,  and  she 
’rose  and  caught  up  the  letters.  She  no  longer  meant  to 
destroy  them:  that  intention  had  been  effaced  by  the 
quick  corrosion  of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  words. 

Instead,  she  approached  her  desk,  and  lighting  a ta- 
per, tied  and  sealed  the  packet;  then  she  opened  the 
wardrobe,  drew  out  a despatch-box,  and  deposited  the 
letters  within  it.  As  she  did  so,  it  struck  her  with  a 
flash  of  irony  that  she  was  indebted  to  Gus  Trenor  for 
the  means  of  buying  them. 


X 

The  autumn  dragged  on  monotonously.  Miss  Bart 
had  received  one  or  two  notes  from  Judy  Trenor, 

[ ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


reproaching  her  for  not  returning  to  Bellomont;  but  she 
replied  evasively,  alleging  the  obligation  to  remain  with 
her  aunt.  In  truth,  however,  she  was  fast  wearying  of  her 
solitary  existence  with  Mrs.  Peniston,  and  only  the  ex- 
citement of  spending  her  newly-acquired  money  light- 
ened the  dulness  of  the  days. 

All  her  life  Lily  had  seen  money  go  out  as  quickly  as 
it  came  in,  and  whatever  theories  she  cultivated  as  to 
the  prudence  of  setting  aside  a part  of  her  gains,  she 
had  unhappily  no  saving  vision  of  the  risks  of  the  op- 
posite course.  It  was  a keen  satisfaction  to  feel  that,  for 
a few  months  at  least,  she  would  be  independent  of  her 
friends’  bounty,  that  she  could  show  herself  abroad  with- 
out wondering  whether  some  penetrating  eye  would  de- 
tect in  her  dress  the  traces  of  Judy  Trenor’s  refurbished 
splendour.  The  fact  that  the  money  freed  her  tempora- 
rily from  all  minor  obligations  obscured  her  sense  of 
the  greater  one  it  represented,  and  having  never  before 
known  what  it  wa^  to  command  so  large  a sum,  she  lin- 
gered delectably  over  the  amusement  of  spending  it. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that,  leaUng  a shop 
where  she  had  spent  an  hour  of  deliberation  over  a 
dressing-case  of  the  most  complicated  elegance,  she  ran 
across  Miss  Parish,  who  had  entered  the  same  establish- 
ment with  the  modest  object  of  having  her  watch  re- 
paired. Lily  was  feeling  unusually  virtuous.  She  had  de- 
cided to  defer  the  purchase  of  the  dressing-case  till  she 
[ 178  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


should  receive  the  bill  for  her  new  opera-cloak,  and  the 
resolve  made  her  feel  much  richer  than  when  she  had 
entered  the  shop.  In  this  mood  of  self-approval  she  had 
a sympathetic  eye  for  others,  and  she  was  struck  by  her 
friend’s  air  of  dejection. 

Miss  Farish,  it  appeared,  had  just  left  the  committee- 
meeting of  a struggling  charity  in  which  she  was  inter- 
ested. The  object  of  the  association  was  to  provide  com- 
fortable lodgings,  with  a reading-room  and  other  modest 
distractions,  where  young  women  of  the  class  employed 
in  down  town  offices  might  find  a home  when  out  of 
work,  or  in  need  of  rest,  and  the  first  year’s  financial  re- 
port showed  so  deplorably  small  a balance  that  Miss 
Farish,  who  was  convinced  of  the  urgency  of  the  work, 
felt  proportionately  discouraged  by  the  small  amount  of 
interest  it  aroused.  The  other-regarding  sentiments  had 
not  been  cultivated  in  Lily,  and  she  was  often  bored  by 
the  relation  of  her  friend’s  philanthropic  efforts,  but  to- 
day her  quick  dramatizing  fancy  seized  on  the  contrast 
between  her  own  situation  and  that  represented  by  some 
of  Gerty’s  “cases.”  These  were  young  girls,  like  herself; 
some  perhaps  pretty,  some  not  without  a trace  of  her 
finer  sensibilities.  She  pictured  herself  leading  such  a life 
as  theirs — a life  in  which  achievement  seemed  as  squalid 
as  failure — and  the  vision  made  her  shudder  sympa- 
thetically. The  price  of  the  dressing-case  was  still  in  her 
pocket;  and  drawing  out  her  little  gold  purse  she  slipped 

[ n9  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

a liberal  fraction  of  the  amount  into  Miss  Parish  s hand. 

The  satisfaction  derived  from  this  act  was  all  that 
the  most  ardent  moralist  could  have  desired.  Lily  felt  a 
new  interest  in  herself  as  a person  of  charitable  instincts*, 
she  had  never  before  thought  of  doing  good  with  the 
wealth  she  had  so  often  dreamed  of  possessing,  but  now 
her  horizon  weis  enlarged  by  the  vision  of  a prodigal 
philanthropy.  Moreover,  by  some  obscure  process  of 
logic,  she  felt  that  her  momentary  burst  of  generosity 
had  justified  all  previous  extravagances,  and  excused  any 
in  which  she  might  subsequently  indulge.  IVIiss  Parish’s 
surprise  and  gratitude  confirmed  this  feeling,  and  Lily 
parted  from  her  with  a sense  of  self-esteem  which  she 
naturally  mistook  for  the  fruits  of  altruism. 

About  this  time  she  was  farther  cheered  by  an  invita- 
tion to  spend  the  Thanksgiving  week  at  a camp  in  the 
Adirondack  s.  The  invitation  was  one  which,  a year 
earlier,  would  have  provoked  a less  ready  response,  for 
the  party,  though  organized  by  Mrs.  Pisher,  was  osten- 
sibly given  by  a lady  of  obscure  origin  and  indomitable 
social  ambitions,  whose  acquaintance  Lily  had  hitherto 
avoided.  Now,  however,  she  was  disposed  to  coincide 
with  Mrs.  Pisher’s  view,  that  it  did  n’t  matter  who  gave 
the  party,  as  long  as  things  were  well  done;  and  doing 
things  well  (under  competent  direction)  was  ^Irs.  Wel- 
lington Bry’s  strong  point.  The  lady  (whose  consort  was 
known  as  “Welly”  Bry  on  the  Stock  Exchange  and  in 
[ 180  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

sporting  circles)  had  already  sacrificed  one  husband,  and 
sundry  minor  considerations,  to  her  determination  to 
get  on;  and,  having  obtained  a hold  on  Carry  Fisher, 
she  was  astute  enough  to  perceive  the  wisdom  of  com- 
mitting  herself  entirely  to  that  lady’s  guidance.  Every- 
thing, accordingly,  was  well  done,  for  there  was  no  limit 
to  Mrs.  Fisher’s  prodigality  when  she  was  not  spending 
her  own  money,  and  as  she  remarked  ro  her  pupil,  a 
good  cook  was  the  best  introduction  to  society.  If  the 
company  was  not  as  select  as  the  cuisitie,  the  Welly 
Brys  at  least  had  the  satisfaction  of  figuring  for  the 
first  time  in  the  society  columns  in  company  with  one 
or  two  noticeable  names;  and  foremost  among  these  was 
of  com’se  Miss  Bart’s,  The  young  lady  was  treated  by  her 
hosts  with  corresponding  deference;  and  she  was  in  the 
mood  when  such  attentions  are  acceptable,  whatever 
their  source.  Mrs.  Bry’s  admiration  was  a mirror  in 
which  Lily’s  self-complacency  recovered  its  lost  outlinCc 
No  insect  hangs  its  nest  on  threads  as  frail  as  those 
which  will  sustain  the  weight  of  human  vanity;  and  the 
sense  of  being  of  importance  among  the  insignificant 
was  enough  to  restore  to  Miss  Bart  the  gratifying  con- 
sciousness of  power.  If  these  people  paid  court  to  her  it 
proved  that  she  was  still  conspicuous  in  the  world  to 
which  they  aspired;  and  she  was  not  above  a certain  en- 
joyment in  dazzling  them  by  her  fineness,  in  developing 
their  puzzled  perception  of  her  superiorities. 

t 181  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Perhaps,  however,  her  enjoyment  proceeded  more 
than  she  was  aware  from  the  physical  stimulus  of  the 
excursion,  the  challenge  of  crisp  cold  and  hard  exercise, 
the  responsive  thrill  of  her  body  to  the  influences  of  the 
winter  woods.  She  returned  to  town  in  a glow  of  reju- 
venation, conscious  of  a clearer  colour  in  her  cheeks,  a 
fresh  elasticity  in  her  muscles.  The  future  seemed  full  of 
a vague  promise,  and  all  her  apprehensions  were  swept 
out  of  sight  on  the  buoyant  current  of  her  mood. 

A few  days  after  her  return  to  town  she  had  the  un- 
pleasant surprise  of  a visit  from  Mr.  Rosedale.  He  came 
late,  at  the  confidential  hour  when  the  tea-table  still 
lingers  by  the  fire  in  friendly  expectancy;  and  his  man- 
ner showed  a readiness  to  adapt  itself  to  the  intimacy  of 
the  occasion. 

Lily,  who  had  a vague  sense  of  his  being  somehow  con- 
nected with  her  lucky  speculations,  tried  to  give  him  the 
welcome  he  expected;  but  there  was  something  in  the 
quality  of  his  geniality  which  chilled  her  own,  and  she 
WEIS  conscious  of  marking  each  step  in  their  acquaintance 
by  a fresh  blunder. 

Mr.  Rosedale — making  himself  promptly  at  home  in 
an  adjoining  easy -chair,  and  sipping  his  tea  critically, 
with  the  comment:  “You  ought  to  go  to  my  man  for 
something  really  good” — appeared  totally  unconscious 
of  the  repugnance  which  kept  her  in  frozen  erectness  be- 
hind the  um.  It  was  perhaps  her  very  manner  of  holding 
[ 182  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


herself  aloof  that  appealed  to  his  collector’s  passion  for 
the  rare  and  unattainable.  He  gave,  at  any  rate,  no  sign 
of  resenting  it  and  seemed  prepared  to  supply  in  his  own 
manner  all  the  ease  that  was  lacking  in  hers. 

His  object  in  calling  was  to  ask  her  to  go  to  the  opera, 
in  his  box  on  the  opening  night,  and  seeing  her  hesitate 
he  said  persuasively:  “Mrs.  Fisher  is  coming,  and  I’ve 
secured  a tremendous  admirer  of  yours,  who  ’ll  never  for- 
give me  if  you  don’t  accept.” 

As  Lily’s  silence  left  him  with  this  allusion  on  his 
hands,  he  added  with  a confidential  smile:  “Gus  Trenor 
has  promised  to  come  to  town  on  purpose.  I fancy  he’d 
go  a good  deal  farther  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you.” 

Miss  Bart  felt  an  inward  motion  of  annoyance;  it  was 
distasteful  enough  to  hear  her  name  coupled  with  Tre- 
noFs,  and  on  Rosedale’s  lips  the  allusion  was  peculiarly 
unpleasant. 

“The  Trenors  are  my  best  friends — I think  we  should 
all  go  a long  way  to  see  each  other,”  she  said,  absorbing 
herself  in  the  preparation  of  fresh  tea. 

Her  visitor’s  smile  grew  increasingly  intimate.  “Well, 
I was  n’t  thinking  of  Mrs.  Trenor  at  the  moment — they 
say  Gus  doesn’t  always,  you  know.”  Then,  dimly  con- 
scious that  he  had  not  struck  the  right  note,  he  added, 
with  a well-meant  effort  at  diversion:  “How’s  your  luck 
been  going  in  Wall  Street,  by  the  way?  I hear  Gus  pulled 
off  a nice  little  pile  for  you  last  month.” 

[ 183  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lily  put  down  the  tea-caddy  with  an  abrapt  gesture. 
She  felt  that  her  hands  were  trembling,  and  clasped  them 
on  her  knee  to  steady  them ; but  her  lip  trembled  too,  and 
for  a moment  she  was  afraid  the  tremor  might  communi- 
cate itself  to  her  voice.  When  she  spoke,  however,  it  was 
in  a tone  of  perfect  lightness. 

“Ah,  yes — I had  a little  bit  of  money  to  invest,  and 
Mr.  Trenor,  who  helps  me  about  such  matters,  ad\used 
my  putting  it  in  stocks  instead  of  a mortgage,  as  my 
aunt’s  agent  wanted  me  to  do;  and  as  it  happened,  I 
made  a lucky  ‘turn’ — is  that  what  you  call  it.?  For  you 
make  a great  many  yourself,  I believe.” 

She  was  smiling  back  at  him  now,  relaxing  the  tension 
of  her  attitude,  and  admitting  him,  by  imperceptible 
gradations  of  glance  and  manner,  a step  farther  toward 
intimacy.  The  protective  instinct  always  nerved  her  to 
successful  dissimulation,  and  it  was  not  the  first  time 
she  had  used  her  beauty  to  divert  attention  from  an  in- 
convenient topic. 

When  Mr.  Rosedale  took  leave,  he  carried  with  him, 
not  only  her  acceptance  of  his  invitation,  but  a general 
sense  of  having  comported  himself  in  a way  calculated  to 
\ advance  his  cause.  He  had  always  believed  he  had  a light 
touch  and  a knowing  way  with  women,  and  the  prompt 
manner  in  which  INIiss  Bart  (as  he  would  have  phrased 
it)  had  “come  into  line,”  confirmed  his  confidence  in  his 
powers  of  handling  the  skittish  sex.  Her  way  of  glossing 

t 184  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


over  the  transaction  with  Trenor  he  regarded  at  once  as 
a tribute  to  his  own  acuteness,  and  a confirmation  of  his 
suspicions.  The  girl  was  evidently  nervous,  and  Mr.  Rose^ 
dale,  if  he  saw  no  other  means  of  advancing  his  acquain- 
tance with  her,  was  not  above  taking  advantage  of  her 
nervousness. 

He  left  Lily  to  a passion  of  disgust  and  fear.  It  seemed 
incredible  that  Gus  Trenor  should  have  spoken  of  her  to 
Rosedale.  With  all  his  faults,  Trenor  had  the  safeguard 
of  his  traditions,  and  was  the  less  likely  to  overstep  them 
because  they  were  so  purely  instinctive.  But  Lily  recalled 
with  a pang  that  there  were  convivial  moments  when,  as 
Judy  had  confided  to  her,  Gus  “talked  foolishly”:  in  one 
of  these,  no  doubt,  the  fatal  word  had  slipped  from  him. 
As  for  Rosedale,  she  did  not,  after  the  first  shock,  greatly 
care  what  conclusions  he  had  drawn.  Though  usually 
adroit  enough  where  her  own  interests  were  concerned, 
she  made  the  mistake,  not  uncommon  to  persons  in  whom 
the  social  habits  are  instinctive,  of  supposing  that  the 
inability  to  acquire  them  quickly  implies  a general  dul- 
ness.  Because  a blue-bottle  bangs  irrationally  against  a 
window-pane,  the  drawing-room  naturalist  may  forget 
that  under  less  artificial  conditions  it  is  capable  of  mea- 
suring distances  and  drawing  conclusions  with  all  the  ac- 
curacy needful  to  its  welfare ; and  the  fact  that  Mr.  Rose- 
dale’s  drawing-room  manner  lacked  perspective  made  Lily 
class  him  with  Trenor  and  the  other  dull  men  she  knew, 
[ 18S  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  assume  that  a little  flattery,  and  the  occasional  ac- 
ceptance of  his  hospitality,  would  suffice  to  render  him 
innocuous.  However,  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  the  ex- 
pediency of  showing  herself  in  his  box  on  the  opening 
night  of  the  opera;  and  after  all,  since  Judy  Trenor  had 
promised  to  take  him  up  that  winter,  it  was  as  well  to 
reap  the  advantage  of  being  first  in  the  field. 

For  a day  or  two  after  Rosedale’s  visit,  Lily’s  thoughts 
were  dogged  by  the  consciousness  of  Trenor’s  shadowy 
claim,  and  she  wished  she  had  a clearer  notion  of  the  ex- 
act nature  of  the  transaction  which  seemed  to  have  put 
her  in  his  power;  but  her  mind  shrank  from  any  unusual 
application,  and  she  was  always  helplessly  puzzled  by  fig- 
ures. Moreover  she  had  not  seen  Trenor  since  the  day  of 
the  Van  Osburgh  wedding,  and  in  his  continued  absence 
the  trace  of  Rosedale’s  words  was  soon  effaced  by  other 
impressions. 

"When  the  opening  night  of  the  opera  came,  her  ap- 
prehensions had  so  completely  vanished  that  the  sight  of 
Trenor’s  ruddy  countenance  in  the  back  of  Mr.  Rose- 
dale’s box  filled  her  with  a sense  of  pleasant  reassurance. 
Lily  had  not  quite  reconciled  herself  to  the  necessity  of 
appearing  as  Rosedale’s  guest  on  so  conspicuous  an  occa- 
sion, and  it  was  a relief  to  find  herself  supported  by  any 
one  of  her  OAvn  set — for  Mrs.  Fisher’s  social  habits  were 
too  promiscuous  for  her  presence  to  justify  Miss  Bart’s. 

To  Lily,  always  inspirited  by  the  prospect  of  showing 

[ 186  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


her  beauty  in  public,  and  conscious  tonight  of  all  the 
added  enhancements  of  dress,  the  insistency  of  Trenor’s 
gaze  merged  itself  in  the  general  stream  of  admiring  looks 
of  which  she  felt  herself  the  centre.  Ah,  it  was  good  to 
be  young,  to  be  radiant,  to  glow  with  the  sense  of  slen- 
derness, strength  and  elasticity,  of  well-poised  lines  and 
happy  tints,  to  feel  one’s  self  lifted  to  a height  apart  by 
that  incommunicable  grace  which  is  the  bodily  counter- 
part of  genius! 

All  means  seemed  justifiable  to  attain  such  an  end,  or 
rather,  by  a happy  shifting  of  lights  with  which  practice 
had  familiarized  Miss  Bart,  the  cause  shrank  to  a pin- 
point in  the  general  brightness  of  the  effect.  But  bril- 
liant young  ladies,  a little  blinded  by  their  own  efful- 
gence, are  apt  to  forget  that  the  modest  satellite  drowned 
in  their  light  is  still  performing  its  own  revolutions  and 
generating  heat  at  its  own  rate.  If  Lily’s  poetic  enjoy- 
ment of  the  moment  was  undisturbed  by  the  base  thought 
that  her  gown  and  opera  cloak  had  been  indirectly  paid 
for  by  Gus  Trenor,  the  latter  had  not  sufficient  poetry 
in  his  composition  to  lose  sight  of  these  prosaic  facts. 
He  knew  only  that  he  had  never  seen  Lily  look  smarter 
in  her  life,  that  there  was  n’t  a woman  in  the  house  who 
showed  off  good  clothes  as  she  did,  and  that  hitherto  he, 
to  whom  she  owed  the  opportunity  of  making  this  dis- 
play, had  reaped  no  return  beyond  that  of  gazing  at  her 
in  company  with  several  hundred  other  pairs  of  eyes. 

[ 187  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


It  came  to  Lily  therefore  as  a disagreeable  surprise 
when,  in  the  back  of  the  box,  where  they  found  them- 
selves alone  between  two  acts,  Trenor  said,  without  pre- 
amble, and  in  a tone  of  sulky  authority.  “Look  here, 
Lily,  how  is  a fellow  ever  to  see  anything  of  you  ? I ’m  in 
town  three  or  four  days  in  the  week,  and  you  know  a 
line  to  the  club  will  always  find  me,  but  you  don’t  seem 
to  remember  my  existence  nowadays  unless  you  want  to 
get  a tip  out  of  me.” 

The  fact  that  the  remark  was  in  distinctly  bad  taste 
did  not  make  it  any  easier  to  answer,  for  Lily  was  vividly 
aware  that  it  was  not  the  moment  for  that  drawing  up 
of  her  slim  figure  and  surprised  lifting  of  the  brows  by 
which  she  usually  quelled  incipient  signs  of  familiarity. 

“ I ’m  very  much  flattered  by  your  wanting  to  see  me,” 
she  returned,  essaying  lightness  instead,  “but,  unless  you 
have  mislaid  my  address,  it  would  have  been  easy  to 
find  me  any  afternoon  at  my  aunt’s — in  fact,  I rather  ex- 
pected you  to  look  me  up  there.” 

If  she  hoped  to  mollify  him  by  this  last  concession  the 
attempt  was  a failure,  for  he  only  replied,  with  the  fa- 
miliar lowering  of  the  brows  that  made  him  look  his 
dullest  when  he  was  angry:  “Hang  going  to  your  aunt’s, 
and  wasting  the  afternoon  listening  to  a lot  of  other 
chaps  talking  to  you ! You  know  I ’m  not  the  kind  to  sit 
in  a crowd  and  jaw — I’d  always  rather  clear  out  when 
that  sort  of  circus  is  going  on.  But  why  can’t  we  go  off 
[ 188  ] 


‘‘  You  don’t  seem  to  remember  my  existence  nowadays.” 


'.r 


.'ll. 


"f-.  • . ;^  ■ . 

: ■ *•’■■  1...  ■ ,M  ,. 


J 


^ '■*t  k 


m 


V- 


> 


4 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


somewhere  on  a little  lark  together — a nice  quiet  little 
expedition  like  that  drive  at  Bellomont,  the  day  you  met 
me  at  the  station?” 

He  leaned  unpleasantly  close  in  order  to  convey  this 
suggestion,  and  she  fancied  she  caught  a significant 
aroma  which  explained  the  dark  flush  on  his  face  and 
the  glistening  dampness  of  his  forehead. 

The  idea  that  any  rash  answer  might  provoke  an  un- 
pleasant outburst  tempered  her  disgust  with  caution, 
and  she  answered  with  a laugh:  “I  don’t  see  how  one 
can  very  well  take  country  drives  in  town,  but  I am  not 
always  surroimded  by  an  admiring  throng,  and  if  you 
will  let  me  know  what  afternoon  you  are  coming  I will 
arrange  things  so  that  we  can  have  a nice  quiet  talk.” 

“Hang  talking!  That’s  what  you  always  say,”  re- 
turned Trenor,  whose  expletives  lacked  variety.  “You 
put  me  off  with  that  at  the  Van  Osbui’gh  wedding — but 
the  plain  English  of  it  is  that,  now  you  Ve  got  what  you 
wanted  out  of  me,  you ’d  rather  have  any  other  fellow 
about.” 

His  voice  had  risen  sharply  with  the  last  words,  and 
Lily  flushed  with  annoyance,  but  she  kept  command  of 
the  situation  and  laid  a persuasive  hand  on  his  arm. 

“Don’t  be  foolish,  Gus;  I can’t  let  you  talk  to  me  in 
that  ridiculous  way.  If  you  really  want  to  see  me,  why 
shouldn’t  we  take  a walk  in  the  Park  some  afternoon? 
I agree  with  you  that  it ’s  amusing  to  be  rustic  in  town, 
[ 189  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  if  you  like  I ’ll  meet  you  there,  and  we’ll  go  and 
feed  the  squirrels,  and  you  shall  take  me  out  on  the  lake 
in  the  steam-gondola.” 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  letting  her  eyes  rest  on  his 
in  a way  that  took  the  edge  from  her  banter  and  made 
him  suddenly  malleable  to  her  will. 

“All  right,  then:  that’s  a go.  Will  you  come  tomor- 
row.? TomoiTow  at  three  o’clock,  at  the  end  of  the  Mall.? 
I ’ll  be  there  sharp,  remember;  you  won’t  go  back  on  me, 
Lily.?” 

But  to  Miss  Bart’s  relief  the  repetition  of  her  promise 
was  cut  short  by  the  opening  of  the  box  door  to  admit 
George  Dorset. 

Trenor  sulkily  yielded  his  place,  and  Lily  turned  a 
brilliant  smile  on  the  newcomer.  She  had  not  talked 
with  Dorset  since  their  visit  at  Bellomont,  but  some- 
thing in  his  look  and  manner  told  her  that  he  recalled 
the  friendly  footing  on  which  they  had  last  met.  He 
was  not  a man  to  whom  the  expression  of  admiration 
came  easily:  hij  long  sallow  face  and  distrustful  eyes 
seemed  always  barricaded  against  the  expansive  emo- 
tions. But,  where  her  own  influence  was  concerned, 
Lily’s  intuitions  sent  out  thread-like  feelers,  and  as  she 
made  room  for  him  on  the  narrow  sofa  she  was  sure  he 
found  a dumb  pleasure  in  being  near  her.  Few  women 
took  the  trouble  to  make  themselves  agreeable  to  Dor- 
set, and  Lily  had  been  kind  to  him  at  Bellomont,  and 
[ 190  1 


\ 

THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

was  now  smiling  on  him  with  a divine  renewal  of  kind- 
ness. 

“Well,  here  we  are,  in  for  another  six  months  of 
caterwauling,”  he  began  complainingly.  “Not  a shade  of 
difference  between  this  year  and  last,  except  that  the  wo- 
men have  got  new  clothes  and  the  singers  have  n’t  got  new 
voices.  My  wife’s  musical,  you  know — puts  me  through 
a course  of  this  every  winter.  It  is  n’t  so  bad  on  Italian 
nights — then  she  comes  late,  and  there ’s  time  to  digest. 

But  when  they  give  Wagner  we  have  to  rush  dinner,  and 
I pay  up  for  it.  And  the  draughts  are  damnable — as- 
phyxia in  front  and  pleurisy  in  the  back.  There ’s  Tre- 
nor  leaving  the  box  without  drawing  the  curtain!  With 
a hide  like  that  draughts  don’t  make  any  difference. 

Did  you  ever  watch  Trenor  eat.?  If  you  did,  you ’d  won- 
der why  he’s  alive;  I suppose  he’s  leather  inside  too. — • 

But  I came  to  say  that  my  wife  wants  you  to  come  down 
to  our  place  next  Sunday.  Do  for  heaven’s  sake  say  yes. 

She’s  got  a lot  of  bores  coming — intellectual  ones,  I 
mean;  that’s  her  new  line,  you  know,  and  I’m  not  sure 
it  ain’t  worse  than  the  music.  Some  of ’em  have  long  hair, 
and  they  start  an  argument  with  the  soup,  and  don’t 
notice  when  things  are  handed  to  them.  The  consequence 
is  the  dinner  gets  cold,  and  I have  dyspepsia.  That  silly 
ass  Silverton  brings  them  to  the  house — he  writes  poetry, 
you  know,  and  Bertha  and  he  are  getting  tremendously 
thick.  She  could  write  better  than  any  of  ’em  if  she  chose, 

[ 191  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  I don’t  blame  her  for  wanting  clever  fellows  about; 
all  I say  is:  ‘Don’t  let  me  see  ’em  eat!’” 

The  gist  of  this  strange  communication  gave  Lily  a 
distinct  thrill  of  pleasure.  Under  ordinary  circumstances, 
there  would  have  been  nothing  surprising  in  an  inUta- 
tion  from  Bertha  Dorset;  but  since  the  Bellomont  epi- 
sode an  unavowed  hostility  had  kept  the  two  women 
apart.  Now,  with  a start  of  inner  wonder,  Lily  felt  that 
her  thirst  for  retaliation  had  died  out.  If  you  -would  for- 
give your  enemy,  says  the  Malay  proverb,  first  infiict  a 
^hurt  on  him;  and  Lily  was  experiencing  the  truth  of  the 
apothegm.  If  she  had  destroyed  Mrs.  Dorset’s  letters, 
she  might  have  continued  to  hate  her;  but  the  fact  that 
they  remained  in  her  possession  had  fed  her  resentment 
to  satiety. 

She  uttered  a smiling  acceptance,  hailing  in  the  re- 
newal of  the  tie  an  escape  fi'om  Trenor’s  importunities. 


XI 

Meanwhile  the  holidays  had  gone  by  and  the 
season  was  beginning.  Fifth  Avenue  had  be- 
come a nightly  torrent  of  carriages  surging  upward  to 
the  fashionable  quarters  about  the  Park,  where  illumi- 
nated windows  and  outspread  awnings  betokened  the 
usual  routine  of  hospitality.  Other  tributary  cun’ents 
crossed  the  main  stream,  bearing  their  freight  to  the 
[ 192  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


theatres,  restaurants  or  opera;  and  Mrs.  Peniston,  from 
the  secluded  watch-tower  of  her  upper  window,  could  tell 
to  a nicety  just  when  the  chronic  volume  of  sound  was 
increased  by  the  sudden  influx  setting  toward  a Van  Os- 
burgh  ball,  or  when  the  multiplication  of  wheels  meant 
merely  that  the  opera  was  over,  or  that  there  was  a 
big  supper  at  Sherry’s. 

Mrs.  Peniston  followed  the  rise  and  culmination  of 
the  season  as  keenly  as  the  most  active  sharer  in  its 
gaieties;  and,  as  a looker-on,  she  enjoyed  opportunities 
of  comparison  and  generalization  such  as  those  who 
take  part  must  proverbially  forego.  No  one  could  have 
kept  a more  accurate  record  of  social  fluctuations,  or 
have  put  a more  unerring  finger  on  the  distinguishing 
features  of  each  season : its  dulness,  its  extravagance,  its 
lack  of  balls  or  excess  of  divorces.  She  had  a special 
memory  for  the  vicissitudes  of  the  “new  people”  who 
rose  to  the  surface  with  each  recurring  tide,  and  were 
either  submerged  beneath  its  rush  or  landed  trium- 
phantly beyond  the  reach  of  envious  breakers;  and  she 
was  apt  to  display  a remarkable  retrospective  insight 
into  their  ultimate  fate,  so  that,  when  they  had  fulfilled 
their  destiny,  she  was  almost  always  able  to  say  to 
Grace  Stepney — the  recipient  of  her  prophecies — that 
she  had  known  exactly  what  would  happen. 

This  particular  season  Mrs.  Peniston  would  have  char- 
acterized as  that  in  which  everybody  “felt  poor”  ex- 
[ 193  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


cept  the  Welly  Brys  and  Mr.  Simon  Rosedale.  It  had 
been  a bad  autumn  in  Wall  Street,  where  prices  fell  in 
accordance  with  that  peculiar  law  which  proves  railway 
stocks  and  bales  of  cotton  to  be  more  sensitive  to  the 
allotment  of  executive  power  than  many  estimable  citi- 
zens trained  to  all  the  advantages  of  self-government. 
Even  fortunes  supposed  to  be  independent  of  the  market 
either  betrayed  a secret  dependence  on  it,  or  suffered 
from  a sympathetic  affection : fashion  sulked  in  its  coun- 
try-houses, or  came  to  town  incognito,  general  enter- 
tainments were  discountenanced,  and  informality  and 
short  dinners  became  the  fashion. 

But  society,  amused  for  a while  at  playing  Cinderella, 
soon  wearied  of  the  hearthside  role,  and  welcomed  the 
Fairy  God-mother  in  the  shape  of  any  magician  power- 
ful enough  to  turn  the  shrunken  pumpkin  back  again 
into  the  golden  coach.  The  mere  fact  of  growing  richer 
at  a time  when  most  people’s  investments  are  shrinking, 
is  calculated  to  attract  envious  attention ; and  according 
to  WaU  Street  rumoui-s,  Welly  Bry  and  Rosedale  had 
found  the  secret  of  performing  this  miracle. 

Rosedale,  in  particular,  was  said  to  have  doubled  his 
fortune,  and  there  was  talk  of  his  buying  the  newly-fin- 
ished house  of  one  of  the  victims  of  the  crash,  who,  in 
the  space  of  twelve  short  months,  had  made  the  same 
number  of  millions,  built  a house  in  Fifth  Avenue,  filled 
a picture-gallei’y  with  old  masters,  entertained  all  New 
[ 194  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


York  in  it,  and  been  smuggled  out  of  the  country  be* 
tween  a trained  nurse  and  a doctor,  while  his  creditors 
mounted  guard  over  the  old  masters,  and  his  guests  ex- 
plained to  each  other  that  they  had  dined  with  him  only 
because  they  wanted  to  see  the  pictures.  Mr.  Rosedale 
meant  to  have  a less  meteoric  career.  He  knew  he  should 
have  to  go  slowly,  and  the  instincts  of  his  race  fitted 
him  to  suffer  rebuffs  and  put  up  with  delays.  But  he 
was  prompt  to  perceive  that  the  general  dulness  of  the 
season  afforded  him  an  unusual  opportunity  to  shine, 
and  he  set  about  with  patient  industry  to  form  a back- 
ground for  his  growing  glory.  Mrs.  Fisher  was  of  im- 
mense service  to  him  at  this  period.  She  had  set  off  so 
many  newcomers  on  the  social  stage  that  she  was  like 
one  of  those  pieces  of  stock  scenery  which  tell  the  ex- 
perienced spectator  exactly  what  is  going  to  take  place. 

But  Mr.  Rosedale  wanted,  in  the  long  run,  a more  indi- 
vidual environment.  He  was  sensitive  to  shades  of  dif- 
ference which  Miss  Bart  would  never  have  credited  him 
with  perceiving,  because  he  had  no  corresponding  varia- 
tions of  manner;  and  it  was  becoming  more  and  more 
clear  to  him  that  Miss  Bart  herself  possessed  precisely 
I the  complementary  qualities  needed  to  round  off  his  j 
j social  personality. 

j Such  details  did  not  fall  within  the  range  of  Mrs, 
i Peniston’s  vision.  Like  many  minds  of  panoramic  sweep, 

! hers  was  apt  to  overlook  the  minutiae  of  the  foreground, 

[ 195  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  she  was  much  more  likely  to  know  where  Carry 
Fisher  had  found  the  Welly  Brys’  dief  iox  them,  than 
what  was  happening  to  her  own  niece.  She  was  not,  how- 
ever, without  purv'eyors  of  information  ready  to  supple- 
ment her  deficiencies.  Grace  Stepney’s  mind  was  like  a 
kind  of  moral  fly-paper,  to  which  the  buzzing  items  of 
gossip  were  drawn  by  a fatal  attraction,  and  where  they 
hung  fast  in  the  toils  of  an  inexorable  memory\  Lily 
would  have  been  surprised  to  know  how  many  trivial  facts 
concerning  herself  were  lodged  in  Miss  Stepney’s  head. 
She  was  quite  aware  that  she  was  of  interest  to  dingy 
people,  but  she  assumed  that  there  is  only  one  form  of 
dinginess,  and  that  admiration  for  brilliancy  is  the  nat- 
ui’al  expression  of  its  inferior  state.  She  knew  that  Gerty 
Parish  admired  her  blindly,  and  therefore  supposed  that 
she  inspired  the  same  sentiments  in  Grace  Stepney', 
whom  she  classified  as  a Gerty'  Farish  without  the  sav- 
ing traits  of  youth  and  enthusiasm. 

In  reality,  the  two  differed  from  each  other  as  much 
as  they  differed  from  the  object  of  their  mutual  con- 
templation. Miss  Farish’s  heart  was  a fountain  of  tender 
illusions.  Miss  Stepney’s  a precise  register  of  facts  as 
manifested  in  their  relation  to  herself.  She  had  sensi- 
bihties  which,  to  Lily,  would  have  seemed  comic  in  a 
person  with  a freckled  nose  and  red  ey'e-lids,  who  lived 
in  a boarding-house  and  admired  IMrs.  Peniston’s  draw- 
ing-room ; but  poor  Grace’s  limitations  gave  them  a more 

[ 196  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


concentrated  inner  life,  as  poor  soil  starves  certain  plants 
into  intenser  efflorescence.  She  had  in  truth  no  abstract 
propensity  to  malice:  she  did  not  dislike  Lily  because 
the  latter  was  brilliant  and  predominant,  but  because 
she  thought  that  Lily  disliked  her.  It  is  less  mortifying 
to  believe  one’s  self  unpopular  than  insignificant,  and  ] 
vanity  prefers  to  assume  that  indifference  is  a latent 
form  of  unfriendliness.  Even  such  scant  civilities  as  Lily 
accorded  to  Mr.  Rosedale  would  have  made  Miss  Step- 
ney her  friend  for  life;  but  how  could  she  foresee  that 
such  a friend  was  worth  cultivating.?  How,  moreover, 
can  a young  woman  who  has  never  been  ignored  mea- 
sure the  pang  which  this  injury  inflicts.?  And,  lastly, 
how  could  Lily,  accustomed  to  choose  between  a pres- 
sure of  engagements,  guess  that  she  had  mortally  of- 
fended Miss  Stepney  by  causing  her  to  be  excluded  from 
one  of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  infrequent  dinner-parties.? 

Mrs.  Peniston  disliked  giving  dinners,  but  she  had  a 
high  sense  of  family  obligation,  and  on  the  Jack  Step- 
neys’ return  from  their  honeymoon  she  felt  it  incumbent 
upon  her  to  light  the  drawing-room  lamps  and  ex- 
tract her  best  silver  from  the  Safe  Deposit  vaults.  Mrs. 
Peniston’s  rare  entertainments  were  preceded  by  days  of 
heart-rending  vacillation  as  to  every  detail  of  the  feast, 

I from  the  seating  of  the  guests  to  the  pattern  of  the 
table-cloth,  and  in  the  course  of  one  of  these  prelimi- 
nary discussions  she  had  imprudently  suggested  to  her 
[ 197  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


cousin  Grace  that,  as  the  dinner  was  a family  affair,  she 
might  be  included  in  it.  For  a week  the  prospect  had 
lighted  up  Miss  Stepney’s  colourless  existence;  then  she 
had  been  given  to  understand  that  it  would  be  more 
convenient  to  have  her  another  day.  Miss  Stepney  knew 
exactly  what  had  happened.  Lily,  to  whom  family  re- 
unions were  occasions  of  unalloyed  dulness,  had  per- 
suaded her  aunt  that  a dinner  of  “smart”  people  would 
be  much  more  to  the  taste  of  the  young  couple,  and 
Mrs.  Peniston,  who  leaned  helplessly  on  her  niece  in  so- 
cial matters,  had  been  prevailed  upon  to  pronounce 
Grace’s  exile.  After  all,  Grace  could  come  any  other 
day;  why  should  she  mind  being  put  off.^ 

It  was  precisely  because  Miss  Stepney  coiild  come  any 
other  day — and  because  she  knew  her  relations  were  in 
the  secret  of  her  unoccupied  evenings — that  this  inci- 
dent loomed  gigantically  on  her  horizon.  She  was  aware 
that  she  had  Lily  to  thank  for  it;  and  dull  resentment 
was  turned  to  active  animosity. 

Mrs.  Peniston,  on  whom  she  had  looked  in  a day  or 
two  after  the  dinner,  laid  down  her  crochet-work  and 
turned  abruptly  from  her  oblique  survey  of  Fifth  Avenue. 

“ Gus  Trenor — Lily  and  Gus  Trenor.^”  she  said,  grow- 
ing so  suddenly  pale  that  her  visitor  was  almost  alarmed, 
“Oh,  cousin  Julia  . . .'of  course  I don’t  mean  ...” 

“I  don’t  know  what  you  do  mean,”  said  INIi-s.  Penis- 
ton, with  a frightened  quiver  in  her  small  fretful  voice. 
[ 198  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Such  things  were  never  heard  of  in  my  day.  And  my 
own  niece!  I’m  not  sure  I understand  you.  Do  people  say 
he’s  in  love  with  her?” 

Mrs.  Peniston’s  horror  was  genuine.  Though  she  boasted 
an  unequalled  familiarity  with  the  secret  chronicles  of 
society,  she  had  the  innocence  of  the  school-girl  who  re- 
gards wickedness  as  a part  of  “history,”  and  to  whom  it 
never  occurs  that  the  scandals  she  reads  of  in  lesson-hours 
may  be  repeating  themselves  in  the  next  street.  Mrs.  Pen- 
iston  had  kept  her  imagination  shrouded,  like  the  draw- 
ing-room furniture.  She  knew,  of  course,  that  society  was 
“very  much  changed,”  and  that  many  women  her  mother 
would  have  thought  “peculiar”  were  now  in  a position  to 
be  critical  about  their  visiting-lists;  she  had  discussed  the 
perils  of  divorce  with  her  rector,  and  had  felt  thankful 
at  times  that  Lily  was  still  unmarried ; but  the  idea  that 
any  scandal  could  attach  to  a young  girl’s  name,  above 
all  that  it  could  be  lightly  coupled  with  that  of  a mar- 
ried man,  was  so  new  to  her  that  she  was  as  much  aghast 
as  if  she  had  been  accused  of  leaving  her  carpets  down  all 
summer,  or  of  violating  any  of  the  other  cardinal  laws  of 
house-keeping. 

Miss  Stepney,  when  her  first  fright  had  subsided,  be- 
gan to  feel  the  superiority  that  greater  breadth  of  mind 
confers.  It  was  really  pitiable  to  be  as  ignorant  of  the 
world  as  Mrs.  Peniston! 

She  smiled  at  the  latter’s  question.  “People  always 

[ 199  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


say  unpleasant  things — and  certainly  they’re  a great 
deal  together.  A friend  of  mine  met  them  the  other  after- 
noon in  the  Park — quite  late,  after  the  lamps  were  lit. 
It ’s  a pity  Lily  makes  herself  so  conspicuous.” 

^‘■Conspicuous!”  gasped  Mrs.  Peniston.  She  bent  for- 
ward, lowering  her  voice  to  mitigate  the  horror.  “MTiat 
sort  of  things  do  they  say.?  That  he  means  to  get  a di- 
vorce and  marry  her?” 

Grace  Stepney  laughed  outright.  “Dear  me,  no!  He 
vould  hardly  do  that.  It — it’s  a flirtation — nothing 
more.” 

“A  flirtation?  Between  my  niece  and  a married  man? 
Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that,  with  Lily’s  looks  and  ad- 
vantages, she  could  find  no  better  use  for  her  time  than 
to  waste  it  on  a fat  stupid  man  almost  old  enough  to  be 
her  father?”  This  argument  had  such  a conUncing  ring 
that  it  gave  Mrs.  Peniston  sufficient  reassurance  to  pick 
up  her  w ork,  while  she  w'aited  for  Grace  Stepney  to  rally 
her  scattered  forces. 

But  Miss  Stepney  was  on  the  spot  in  an  instant.  “That ’s 
the  worst  of  it — people  say  she  isn’t  wasting  her  time! 
Every  one  knows,  as  you  say,  that  Lily  is  too  handsome 
and — and  charming — to  devote  herself  to  a man  like 
Gus  Trenor  unless ” 

“Unless?”  echoed  Mi’s.  Peniston. 

Her  visitor  di'ew  breath  nervously.  It  was  agreeable  to 
shock  Mrs.  Peniston,  but  not  to  shock  her  to  the  verge  of 
[ 200  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


anger.  Miss  Stepney  was  not  sufficiently  familiar  with  the 
classic  drama  to  have  recalled  in  advance  how  bearers  of 
bad  tidings  are  proverbially  received,  but  she  now  had  a 
rapid  vision  of  forfeited  dinners  and  a reduced  wardrobe 
as  the  possible  consequence  of  her  disinterestedness.  To 
the  honour  of  her  sex,  however,  hatred  of  Lily  prevailed 
over  more  personal  considerations.  Mrs.  Peniston  had 
chosen  the  wrong  moment  to  boast  of  her  niece’s  charms. 

“Unless,”  said  Grace,  leaning  forward  to  speak  with 
low-toned  emphasis,  “unless  there  are  material  advan- 
tages to  be  gained  by  making  herself  agreeable  to  him.” 

She  felt  that  the  moment  was  tremendous,  and  remem- 
bered suddenly  that  Mrs.  Peniston’s  black  brocade,  with 
the  cut  jet  fringe,  would  have  been  hers  at  the  end  of 
the  season. 

Mrs.  Peniston  put  down  her  work  again.  Another  as- 
pect of  the  same  idea  had  presented  itself  to  her,  and  she 
felt  that  it  was  beneath  her  dignity  to  have  her  nerves 
racked  by  a dependent  relative  who  wore  her  old  clothes. 

“If  you  take  pleasure  in  annoying  me  by  mysterious 
insinuations,”  she  said  coldly,  “you  might  at  least  have 
chosen  a more  suitable  time  than  just  as  I am  recovering 
from  the  strain  of  giving  a large  dinner.” 

The  mention  of  the  dinner  dispelled  Miss  Stepney’s 
last  scruples.  “I  don’t  know  why  I should  be  accused  of 
taking  pleasure  in  telling  you  about  Lily.  I was  sure  I 
shouldn’t  get  any  thanks  for  it,”  she  returned  with  a 
[ 201  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


flare  of  temper.  “But  I have  some  family  feeling  left, 
and  as  you  are  the  only  person  who  has  any  authority 
over  Lily,  I thought  you  ought  to  know  what  is  being 
said  of  her.” 

“Well,”  said  Mrs.  Peniston,  “what  I complain  of  is 
that  you  have  n’t  told  me  yet  what  is  being  said.” 

“I  didn’t  suppose  I should  have  to  put  it  so  plainly. 
People  say  that  Gus  Trenor  pays  her  bills.” 

“Pays  her  bills — her  bills.''”  Mrs.  Peniston  broke  into 
a laugh.  “I  can’t  imagine  where  you  can  have  picked  up 
such  rubbish.  Lily  has  her  own  income — and  I provide 
for  her  very  handsomely ” 

“Oh,  we  all  know  that,”  interposed  Miss  Stepney  drily. 
“But  Lily  wears  a great  many  smart  gowns ” 

“I  like  her  to  be  well-dressed — it’s  only  suitable!” 

“Certainly;  but  then  there  are  her  gambling  debts 
besides.” 

Miss  Stepney,  in  the  beginning,  had  not  meant  to  bring 
up  this  point;  but  Mrs.  Peniston  had  only  her  own  in- 
credulity to  blame.  She  was  like  the  stiff-necked  unbe- 
lievers of  Scripture,  who  must  be  annihilated  to  be  con- 
vinced. 

“Gambling  debts Lily?”  Mrs.  Peniston’s  voice  shook 
with  anger  and  bewilderment.  She  wondered  whether 
Grace  Stepney  had  gone  out  of  her  mind.  “MTiat  do  you 
mean  by  her  gambling  debts?” 

“Simply  that  if  one  plays  bridge  for  money  in  Lily’s 

[ 202  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


set  one  is  liable  to  lose  a great  deal — and  I don’t  sup* 
pose  Lily  always  wins.” 

“ Who  told  you  that  my  niece  played  cards  for  money  ?” 

“Mercy,  cousin  Julia,  don’t  look  at  me  as  if  I were 
trying  to  turn  you  against  Lily!  Everybody  knows  she 
is  crazy  about  bridge.  Mrs.  Gryce  told  me  herself  that  it 
was  her  gambling  that  frightened  Percy  Gryce — it  seems 
he  was  really  taken  with  her  at  first.  But,  of  course,  among 
Lily’s  friends  it’s  quite  the  custom  for  girls  to  play  for 
money.  In  fact,  people  are  inclined  to  excuse  her  on  that 
account ” 

“To  excuse  her  for  what.'”’ 

“For  being  hard  up — and  accepting  attentions  from 
men  like  Gus  Trenor — and  George  Dorset ” 

Mrs.  Peniston  gave  another  cry.  “George  Dorset?  Is 
there  any  one  else?  I should  like  to  know  the  worst,  if 
you  please.” 

“Don’t  put  it  in  that  way,  cousin  Julia.  Lately  Lily 
has  been  a good  deal  with  the  Dorsets,  and  he  seems  to 
admire  her — but  of  course  that ’s  only  natural.  And  I ’m 
sure  there  is  no  truth  in  the  horrid  things  people  say;  but 
she  has  been  spending  a great  deal  of  money  this  winter. 
Evie  Van  Osburgh  was  at  Celeste’s  ordering  her  trousseau 
the  other  day — yes,  the  marriage  takes  place  next  month 
— and  she  told  me  that  Celeste  showed  her  the  most  ex- 
quisite things  she  was  just  sending  home  to  Lily.  And 
people  say  that  Judy  Trenor  has  quarrelled  with  her  on 
[ 203  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


account  of  Gus ; but  I ’m  sure  I ’m  sorry  I spoke,  though 
I only  meant  it  as  a kindness.” 

Mrs.  Peniston’s  genuine  incredulity  enabled  her  to  dis- 
miss Miss  Stepney  with  a disdain  which  boded  ill  for  that 
lady’s  prospect  of  succeeding  to  the  black  brocade;  but 
minds  impenetrable  to  reason  have  generally  some  crack 
through  which  suspicion  filters,  and  her  visitor’s  insinua- 
tions did  not  glide  off  as  easily  as  she  had  expected.  Mrs. 
Peniston  disliked  scenes,  and  her  determination  to  avoid 
them  had  always  led  her  to  hold  herself  aloof  from  the 
details  of  Lily’s  life.  In  her  youth,  girls  had  not  been 
supposed  to  require  close  supervision.  They  were  gener- 
ally assumed  to  be  taken  up  wdth  the  legitimate  business 
of  courtship  and  marriage,  and  interference  in  such  affairs 
on  the  part  of  their  natural  guardians  was  considered  as 
unwarrantable  as  a spectator’s  suddenly  joining  in  a game. 
There  had  of  course  been  “fast”  girls  even  in  Mrs.  Pen- 
iston’s early  experience ; but  their  fastness,  at  worst,  was 
understood  to  be  a mere  excess  of  animal  spirits,  against 
which  there  could  be  no  graver  charge  than  that  of  being 
•‘unladylike.”  The  modern  fastness  appeared  synonjnnous 
with  immorality,  and  the  mere  idea  of  immorality  was 
as  offensive  to  IVIre.  Peniston  as  a smell  of  cooking  in  the 
drawing-room;  it  was  one  of  the  conceptions  her  mind 
refused  to  admit. 

She  had  no  immediate  intention  of  repeating  to  Lily 
what  she  had  heard,  or  even  of  trying  to  ascertain  its 
[ 204  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


truth  by  means  of  discreet  interrogation.  To  do  so  might 
be  to  provoke  a scene;  and  a scene,  in  the  shaken  state 
of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  nerves,  with  the  effects  of  her  dinner 
not  worn  off,  and  her  mind  still  tremulous  with  new  im- 
pressions, was  a risk  she  deemed  it  her  duty  to  avoid. 
But  there  remained  in  her  thoughts  a settled  deposit  of 
resentment  against  her  niece,  all  the  denser  because  it 
was  not  to  be  cleared  by  explanation  or  discussion.  It 
was  horrible  of  a young  girl  to  let  herself  be  talked  about ; 
however  unfounded  the  charges  against  her,  she  must 
be  to  blame  for  their  having  been  made.  Mrs.  Peniston 
felt  as  if  there  had  been  a contagious  illness  in  the  house, 
and  she  was  doomed  to  sit  shivering  among  her  con- 
taminated furniture. 


XII 

MISS  Bart  had  in  fact  been  treading  a devious 
way,  and  none  of  her  critics  could  have  been 
more  alive  to  the  fact  than  herself ; but  she  had  a fatal- 
istic sense  of  being  drawn  from  one  wrong  turning  to 
another,  without  ever  perceiving  the  right  road  till  it 
was  too  late  to  take  it. 

Lily,  who  considered  herself  above  narrow  prejudices, 
had  not  imagined  that  the  fact  of  letting  Gus  Trenor 
make  a little  money  for  her  would  ever  disturb  her  self- 
complacency.  And  the  fact  in  itself  still  seemed  harm- 
[ 205  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


less  enough;  only  it  was  a fertile  source  of  harmful  com- 
plications. As  she  exhausted  the  amusement  of  spending 
the  money  these  complications  became  more  pressing, 
and  Lily,  whose  mind  could  be  severely  logical  in  tra- 
cing the  causes  of  her  ill-luck  to  others,  justified  herself 
by  the  thought  that  she  owed  all  her  troubles  to  the 
enmity  of  Bertha  Dorset.  This  enmity,  however,  had 
apparently  expired  in  a renewal  of  friendliness  between 
the  two  women.  Lily’s  visit  to  the  Dorsets  had  resulted, 
for  both,  in  the  discovery  that  they  could  be  of  use  to 
each  other;  and  the  civilized  instinct  finds  a subtler 
pleasure  in  making  use  of  its  antagonist  than  in  confound- 
ing him.  Mrs.  Dorset  was,  in  fact,  engaged  in  a new  sen- 
timental experiment,  of  which  Mrs.  Fisher’s  late  pro- 
perty, Ned  Silverton,  was  the  rosy  victim;  and  at  such 
moments,  as  Judy  Trenor  had  once  remarked,  she  felt 
a peculiar  need  of  distracting  her  husband’s  attention. 
Dorset  was  as  difficult  to  amuse  as  a savage;  but  even 
his  self-engrossment  was  not  proof  against  Lily’s  arts, 
or  rather  these  w’ere  especially  adapted  to  soothe  an  un- 
easy egoism.  Her  experience  with  Percy  Gryce  stood  her 
in  good  stead  in  ministering  to  Dorset’s  humours,  and  if 
the  incentive  to  please  was  less  urgent,  the  difficulties  of 
her  situation  were  teaching  her  to  make  much  of  minor 
opportunities. 

Intimacy  with  the  Dorsets  w as  not  likely  to  lessen  such 
difficulties  on  the  material  side.  Mrs.  Dorset  had  none 
[ 206  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


of  Judy  Trenor’s  lavish  impulses,  and  Dorset’s  admira- 
tion was  not  likely  to  express  itself  in  financial  “tips,” 
even  had  Lily  cared  to  renew  her  experiences  in  that  line. 
What  she  required,  for  the  moment,  of  the  Dorsets’ 
friendship,  was  simply  its  social  sanction.  She  knew  that 
people  were  beginning  to  talk  of  her;  but  this  fact  did 
not  alarm  her  as  it  had  alarmed  Mrs.  Peniston.  In  her 
set  such  gossip  was  not  unusual,  and  a handsome  girl 
who  flirted  with  a married  man  was  merely  assumed  to 
be  pressing  to  the  limit  of  her  opportunities.  It  was  Tre- 
nor  himself  who  frightened  her.  Their  walk  in  the  Park 
had  not  been  a success.  Trenor  had  married  young, 
and  since  his  mari’iage  his  intei’course  with  women  had 
not  taken  the  form  of  the  sentimental  small-talk  which 
doubles  upon  itself  like  the  paths  in  a maze.  He  was 
first  puzzled  and  then  irritated  to  find  himself  always 
led  back  to  the  same  starting-point,  and  Lily  felt  that 
she  was  gradually  losing  control  of  the  situation.  Tre- 
nor was  in  truth  in  an  unmanageable  mood.  In  spite  of 
his  understanding  with  Rosedale  he  had  been  somewhat 
heavily  “touched”  by  the  fall  in  stocks;  his  household 
expenses  weighed  on  him,  and  he  seemed  to  be  meeting, 
on  all  sides,  a sullen  opposition  to  his  wishes,  instead  of 
the  easy  good  luck  he  had  hitherto  encountered. 

Mrs.  Trenor  was  still  at  Bellomont,  keeping  the  town- 
house  open,  and  descending  on  it  now  and  then  for  a 
taste  of  the  world,  but  preferring  the  recurrent  excite- 
[ 207  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


merit  of  week-end  parties  to  the  restrictions  of  a dull 
season.  Since  the  holidays  she  had  not  urged  Lily  to  re- 
turn to  Bellomont,  and  the  first  time  they  met  in  town 
Lily  fancied  there  was  a shade  of  coldness  in  her  man- 
ner. Was  it  merely  the  expression  of  her  displeasure  at 
Miss  Bart’s  neglect,  or  had  disquieting  rumours  reached 
her.?*  The  latter  contingency  seemed  improbable,  yet 
Lily  was  not  without  a sense  of  uneasiness.  If  her  roam- 
ing  sympathies  had  struck  root  anywhere,  it  was  in  her 
friendship  with  Judy  Trenor.  She  believed  in  the  sin- 
cerity of  her  friend’s  affection,  though  it  sometimes 
showed  itself  in  self-interested  ways,  and  she  shrank  with 
peculiar  reluctance  from  any  risk  of  estranging  it.  But, 
aside  from  this,  she  was  keenly  conscious  of  the  way  in 
which  such  an  estrangement  would  react  on  herself.  The 
fact  that  Gus  Trenor  was  Judy’s  husband  was  at  times 
Lily’s  strongest  reason  for  disliking  him,  and  for  resent- 
ing the  obligation  under  which  he  had  placed  her. 

To  set  her  doubts  at  rest.  Miss  Bart,  soon  after  the 
New  Year,  “proposed”  herself  for  a week-end  at  BeUo- 
mont.  She  had  learned  in  advance  that  the  presence  of 
a large  party  would  protect  her  from  too  great  assiduity 
on  Trenor’s  part,  and  his  wife’s  telegraphic  “come  by  all 
means”  seemed  to  assure  her  of  her  usual  welcome. 

Judy  received  her  amicably.  The  cares  of  a large  party 
always  prevailed  over  personal  feelings,  and  Lily  saw  no 
change  in  her  hostess’s  manner.  Neveidheless,  she  was 
[ 208  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


soon  aware  that  the  experiment  of  coming  to  Bellomont 
was  destined  not  to  be  successful.  The  party  was  made 
up  of  what  Mrs.  Trenor  called  “poky  people” — her  ge- 
neric name  for  persons  who  did  not  play  bridge — and, 
it  being  her  habit  to  group  all  such  obstructionists  in  one 
class,  she  usually  invited  them  together,  regardless  of 
their  other  characteristics.  The  result  was  apt  to  be  an 
irreducible  combination  of  persons  having  no  other  qual- 
ity in  common  than  their  abstinence  from  bridge,  and  the 
antagonisms  developed  in  a group  lacking  the  one  taste 
which  might  have  amalgamated  them,  were  in  this  case 
aggravated  by  bad  weather,  and  by  the  ill-concealed  bore- 
dom of  their  host  and  hostess.  In  such  emergencies,  Judy 
would  usually  have  turned  to  Lily  to  fuse  the  discordant 
elements;  and  Miss  Bart,  assuming  that  such  a service 
was  expected  of  her,  threw  herself  into  it  with  her  ac- 
customed zeal.  But  at  the  outset  she  perceived  a subtle 
resistance  to  her  efforts.  If  Mrs.  Trenor’s  manner  toward 
her  was  unchanged,  there  was  certainly  a faint  coldness 
in  that  of  the  other  ladies.  An  occasional  caustic  allusion 
to  “your  friends  the  Wellington  Brys,”  or  to  “the  little 
Jew  who  has  bought  the  Greiner  house — some  one  told 
us  you  knew  him.  Miss  Bart,”  — showed  Lily  that  she 
was  in  disfavour  with  that  portion  of  society  which,  while 
contributing  least  to  its  amusement,  has  assumed  the 
right  to  decide  what  forms  that  amusement  shall  take. 
The  indication  was  a slight  one,  and  a year  ago  Lily 

[ 209  ] 


THE  HOU^E  OF  MIRTH 

would  have  smiled  at  it,  trusting  to  the  charm  of  her  per- 
sonality to  dispel  any  prejudice  against  her.  But  now 
she  had  grown  more  sensitive  to  criticism  and  less  con- 
fident in  her  power  of  disarming  it.  She  knew,  moreover, 
that  if  the  ladies  at  Bellomont  permitted  themselves  to 
criticize  her  friends  openly,  it  was  a proof  that  they  were 
not  afraid  of  subjecting  her  to  the  same  treatment  be- 
hind her  back.  The  nervous  dread  lest  anything  in  Tre- 
nor’s  manner  should  seem  to  justify  their  disapproval 
made  her  seek  every  pretext  for  avoiding  him,  and  she 
left  Bellomont  conscious  of  having  failed  in  every  pur- 
pose which  had  taken  her  there. 

In  town  she  returned  to  preoccupations  which,  for  the 
moment,  had  the  happy  effect  of  banishing  troublesome 
thoughts.  The  Welly  Brys,  after  much  debate,  and  anx- 
ious counsel  with  their  newly  acquired  friends,  had  de- 
cided on  the  bold  move  of  giving  a general  entertain- 
ment. To  attack  society  collectively,  when  one’s  means 
of  approach  are  limited  to  a few  acquaintances,  is  like 
advancing  into  a strange  country  with  an  insufficient 
number  of  scouts;  but  such  rash  tactics  have  sometimes 
led  to  brilliant  victories,  and  the  Brys  had  determined 
to  put  their  fate  to  the  touch.  Mrs.  Fisher,  to  whom 
they  had  entrusted  the  conduct  of  the  affair,  had  de- 
cided that  tableaux  vivants  and  expensive  music  were 
the  two  baits  most  likely  to  attract  the  desired  prey, 
and  after  prolonged  negotiations,  and  the  kind  of  wire- 
[ 210  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


pulling  in  which  she  was  known  to  excel,  she  had  in 
duced  a dozen  fashionable  women  to  exhibit  themselves 
in  a series  of  pictures  which,  by  a farther  miracle  of  per- 
suasion, the  distinguished  portrait  painter,  Paul  Mor- 
peth, had  been  prevailed  upon  to  organize. 

Lily  was  in  her  element  on  such  occasions.  Under 
Morpeth’s  guidance  her  vivid  plastic  sense,  hitherto 
nurtured  on  no  higher  food  than  dress-making  and  up- 
holstery, found  eager  expression  in  the  disposal  of  dra- 
peries, the  study  of  attitudes,  the  shifting  of  lights  and 
shadows.  Her  dramatic  instinct  was  roused  by  the  choice 
of  subjects,  and  the  gorgeous  reproductions  of  historic 
dress  stirred  an  imagination  which  only  visual  impres- 
sions could  reach.  But  keenest  of  all  was  the  exhilaration 
of  displaying  her  own  beauty  under  a new  aspect:  of 
showing  that  her  loveliness  was  no  mere  fixed  quality, 
but  an  element  shaping  all  emotions  to  fresh  forms  of 
grace. 

Mrs.  Fisher’s  measures  had  been  well -taken,  and  soci- 
ety, surprised  in  a dull  moment,  succumbed  to  the  temp- 
tation of  Mrs.  Bry’s  hospitality.  The  protesting  minority 
were  forgotten  in  the  throng  which  abjured  and  came; 
and  the  audience  was  almost  as  brilliant  as  the  show. 

Lawrence  Selden  was  among  those  who  had  yielded  to 
the  proffered  inducements.  If  he  did  not  often  act  on  the 
accepted  social  axiom  that  a man  may  go  where  he  pleases, 
it  was  because  he  had  long  since  learned  that  his  pleasures 
[ 211  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

were  mainly  to  be  found  in  a small  group  of  the  like- 
minded.  But  he  enjoyed  spectacular  effects,  and  was  not 
insensible  to  the  part  money  plays  in  their  production . 
all  he  asked  was  that  the  very  rich  should  live  up  to  their 
calling  as  stage-managers,  and  not  spend  their  money  in 
a dull  way.  This  the  Brys  could  certainly  not  be  charged 
with  doing.  Their  recently  built  house,  whatever  it  might 
lack  as  a frame  for  domesticity,  was  almost  as  well-de- 
signed for  the  display  of  a festal  assemblage  as  one  of 
those  airy  pleasure-halls  which  the  Italian  architects  im- 
provised to  set  off  the  hospitality  of  princes.  The  air  of 
improvisation  was  in  fact  strikingly  present:  so  recent, 
so  rapidly-evoked  was  the  whole  mise-en-scene  that  one 
had  to  touch  the  marble  columns  to  leam  they  were  not  of 
cardboard,  to  seat  one’s  self  in  one  of  the  damask-and-gold 
arm-chairs  to  be  sure  it  was  not  painted  against  the  wall. 

Selden,  who  had  put  one  of  these  seats  to  the  test, 
found  himself,  from  an  angle  of  the  ball-room,  surveying 
the  scene  with  frank  enjoyment.  The  company,  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  decorative  instinct  which  calls  for  fine  clothes 
in  fine  surroundings,  had  dressed  rather  with  an  eye  to 
Mrs.  Bry’s  background  than  to  herself.  The  seated  throng, 
filling  the  immense  room  without  undue  crowding,  pre- 
sented a surface  of  rich  tissues  and  jewelled  shoulders  in 
harmony  with  the  festooned  and  gilded  walls,  and  the 
flushed  splendours  of  the  Venetian  ceiling.  At  the  farther 
end  of  the  room  a stage  had  been  constructed  behind  a 

r 212  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


proscenium  arch  curtained  with  folds  of  old  damask , but 
in  the  pause  before  the  parting  of  the  folds  there  was 
little  thought  of  what  they  might  rsveal,  for  every  wo- 
man who  had  accepted  Mrs.  Bry’s  invitation  was  engaged 
in  trying  to  find  out  how  many  of  her  friends  had  done 
the  same. 

Gerty  Parish,  seated  next  to  Selden,  was  lost  in  that 
indiscriminate  and  uncritical  enjoyment  so  irritating  to 
Miss  Bart’s  finer  perceptions.  It  may  be  that  Selden’s 
nearness  had  something  to  do  wiU.  :he  quality  of  his 
cousin’s  pleasure;  but  Miss  Parish  was  so  little  accus 
tomed  to  refer  her  enjoyment  of  such  scenes  to  her  own 
share  in  them,  that  she  was  merely  conscious  of  a deeper 
sense  of  contentment. 

“Wasn’t  it  dear  of  Lily  to  get  me  an  invitation.?  Of 
course  it  would  never  have  occurred  to  Carry  Pisher  to 
put  me  on  the  list,  and  I should  have  been  so  sorry  to 
miss  seeing  it  all — and  especially  Lily  herself.  Some  one 
told  me  the  ceiling  was  by  Veronese — you  would  know, 
of  course,  Lawrence.  I suppose  it’s  very  beautiful,  but 
his  women  are  so  dreadfully  fat.  Goddesses?  Well,  I can 
only  say  that  if  they'd  been  mortals  and  had  to  wear 
corsets,  it  would  have  been  better  for  them.  I think  our 
women  are  much  handsomer.  And  this  room  is  wonder- 
fully becoming — every  one  looks  so  well!  Did  you  ever 
see  such  jewels?  Do  look  at  Mrs.  George  Dorset’s  pearls 
-“I  suppose  the  smallest  of  them  would  pay  the  rent  of 
[ 213  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


our  Girls’  Club  for  a year.  Not  that  I ought  to  complain 
about  the  club ; every  one  hsis  been  so  wonderfully  kind. 
Did  I tell  you  that  Lily  had  given  us  three  hundred  dol- 
lars? Wasn’t  it  splendid  of  her?  And  then  she  collected 
a lot  of  money  from  her  friends — Mrs.  Bry  gave  us  five 
hundred,  and  Mr.  Rosedale  a thousand.  I wish  Lily  were 
not  so  nice  to  Mr,  Rosedale,  but  she  says  it ’s  no  use  be- 
ing rude  to  him,  because  he  doesn’t  see  the  difference. 
She  really  can’t  bear  to  hurt  people’s  feelings — it  makes 
me  so  angry  when  I hear  her  called  cold  and  conceited! 
The  girls  at  the  club  don’t  call  her  that.  Do  you  know 
she  has  been  there  with  me  twice? — yes,  Lily!  And  you 
should  have  seen  their  eyes!  One  of  them  said  it  was  as 
good  as  a day  in  the  country  just  to  look  at  her.  And 
she  sat  there,  and  laughed  and  talked  with  them — not  a 
bit  as  if  she  were  being  charitable,  you  know,  but  as  if 
she  liked  it  as  much  as  they  did.  They’ve  been  asking 
ever  since  when  she’s  coming  back;  and  she’s  promised 
me oh!” 

Miss  Parish’s  confidences  were  cut  short  by  the  parting 
of  the  curtain  on  the  first  tableau — a group  of  nymphs 
dancing  across  flower-strewn  sward  in  the  rhythmic  pos- 
tures of  Botticelli’s  Spring.  Tableaux  vivants  depend  for 
their  effect  not  only  on  the  happy  disposal  of  lights  and 
the  delusive  interposition  of  layers  of  gauze,  but  on  a cor- 
responding adjustment  of  the  mental  vision.  To  unfur- 
nished minds  they  remain,  in  spite  of  every  enhancement 
[ 214  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


of  art,  only  a superior  kind  of  wax-works;  but  to  tht 
responsive  fancy  they  may  give  magic  glimpses  of  the 
boundary  world  between  fact  and  imagination.  Selden’s 
mind  was  of  this  order:  he  could  yield  to  vision-making 
influences  as  completely  as  a child  to  the  spell  of  a fairy- 
tale. Mrs.  Bry’s  tableaux  wanted  none  of  the  qualities 
which  go  to  the  producing  of  such  illusions,  and  under 
Morpeth’s  organizing  hand  the  pictures  succeeded  each 
other  with  the  rhythmic  march  of  some  splendid  frieze, 
in  which  the  fugitive  curves  of  living  flesh  and  the  wan- 
dering light  of  young  eyes  have  been  subdued  to  plastic 
harmony  without  losing  the  charm  of  life. 

The  scenes  were  taken  from  old  pictures,  and  the  par- 
ticipators had  been  cleverly  fitted  with  characters  suited 
to  their  types.  No  one,  for  instance,  could  have  made  a 
more  typical  Goya  than  Carry  Fisher,  with  her  short 
dark-skinned  face,  the  exaggerated  glow  of  her  eyes,  the 
provocation  of  her  frankly-painted  smile.  A brilliant  Miss 
Smedden  from  Brooklyn  showed  to  perfection  the  sump- 
tuous curves  of  Titian’s  Daughter,  lifting  her  gold  salver 
laden  with  grapes  above  the  harmonizing  gold  of  rippled 
hair  and  rich-  brocade,  and  a young  Mrs.  Van  Alstyne, 
who  showed  the  fi-ailer  Dutch  type,  with  high  blue- veined 
forehead  and  pale  eyes  and  lashes,  made  a characteristic 
Vandyck,  in  black  satin,  against  a cui'tained  archway. 
Then  there  were  Kauffmann  nymphs  garlanding  the  al- 
tar of  Love;  a Veronese  supper,  all  sheeny  textures,  pearl- 
[ 215  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


■yoven  heads  and  marble  architecture;  and  a Watteau 
group  of  lute-playing  comedians,  lounging  by  a fountain 
in  a sunlit  glade. 

Each  evanescent  picture  touched  the  vision-building 
faculty  in  Selden,  leading  him  so  far  down  the  vistas  of 
fancy  that  even  Gerty  Parish’s  running  commentary' — 
“Oh,  how  lovely  Lulu  Melson  looks!”  or;  “That  must 
be  Kate  Corby,  to  the  right  there,  in  purple” — did  not 
break  the  spell  of  the  illusion.  Indeed,  so  skilfully  had 
the  personality  of  the  actors  been  subdued  to  the  scenes 
they  figured  in  that  even  the  least  imaginative  of  the 
audience  must  have  felt  a thi’ill  of  contrast  when  the  cur- 
tain suddenly  parted  on  a picture  which  was  simply  and 


undisguisedly  the  portrait  of  Miss  Bart. 

there  could  be  no  mistaking  the  predominance 


of  personality — the  unanimous  “Oh!”  of  the  spectators 


j was  a tribute,  not  to  the  brush-work  of  Reymolds’s  “ Mrs. 
Lloyd”  but  to  the  flesh  and  blood  loveliness  of  Lily  Bart. 
She  had  showm  her  artistic  intelligence  in  selecting  a 
type  so  like  her  own  that  she  could  embody  the  person 
represented  without  ceasing  to  be  herself.  It  was  as  though 
she  had  stepped,  not  out  of,  but  into,  Reynolds’s  canvas, 
banishing  the  phantom  of  his  dead  beauty  by  the  beams 
of  her  living  grace.  The  impulse  to  show'  herself  in  a 
splendid  setting — she  had  thought  for  a moment  of  re- 
presenting Tiepolo’s  Cleopatra — had  yielded  to  the  truer 
instinct  of  tmsting  to  her  unassisted  beauty,  and  she  had 


[ 216  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


purposely  chosen  a picture  without  distracting  accessories 
of  dress  or  suiToundings.  Her  pale  di’aperies,  and  the 
background  of  foliage  against  which  she  stood,  served 
only  to  relieve  the  long  dryad-like  curves  that  swept  up- 
ward from  her  poised  foot  to  her  lifted  arm.  The  noble 
buoyancy  of  her  attitude,  its  suggestion  of  soaring  grace, 
revealed  the  touch  of  poetry  in  her  beauty  that  Selden 
always  felt  in  her  presence,  yet  lost  the  sense  of  when  he 
was  not  with  her.  Its  expression  was  now  so  vivid  that 
for  the  first  time  he  seemed  to  see  before  him  the  real 
Lily  Bart,  divested  of  the  trivialities  of  her  little  world, 
and  catching  for  a moment  a note  of  that  eternal  har- 
mony of  which  her  beauty  was  a part. 

“Deuced  bold  thing  to  show  herself  in  that  get-up; 
but,  gad,  there  is  n’t  a break  in  the  lines  anywhere,  and 
I suppose  she  wanted  us  to  know  it!” 

These  words,  uttered  by  that  experienced  connoisseur, 
Mr.  Ned  Van  Alstyne,  whose  scented  white  moustache 
had  brushed  Selden’s  shoulder  whenever  the  parting  of 
the  curtains  presented  any  exceptional  opportunity  for 
the  study  of  the  female  outline,  affected  their  hearer  in 
an  unexpected  way.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Selden 
had  heard  Lily’s  beauty  lightly  remarked  on,  and  hitherto 
the  tone  of  the  comments  had  imperceptibly  coloured  his 
view  of  her.  But  now  it  w'oke  only  a motion  of  indignant 
contempt.  This  was  the  world  she  lived  in,  these  were  the 
standards  by  which  she  was  fated  to  be  measured!  Does 
[ 217  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


one  go  to  Caliban  for  a judgment  on  IMiranda? 

In  the  long  moment  before  the  curtain  fell,  he  had 
time  to  feel  the  whole  tragedy  of  her  life.  It  was  as 
though  her  beauty,  thus  detached  from  all  that  cheap- 
ened and  vulgarized  it,  had  held  out  suppliant  hands  to 
him  from  the  world  in  which  he  and  she  had  once  met 
for  a moment,  and  where  he  felt  an  overmastering  long- 
ing to  be  with  her  again. 

He  was  roused  by  the  pressure  of  ecstatic  fingers. 
“Wasn’t  she  too  beautiful,  Lawrence.^  Don’t  you  like 
her  best  in  that  simple  di’ess.?  It  makes  her  look  like  the 
real  Lily — the  Lily  I know.” 

He  met  Gerty  Parish’s  brimming  gaze.  “The  Lily  we 
know,”  he  connected ; and  his  cousin,  beaming  at  the  im- 
plied understanding,  exclaimed  joyfully:  “I’ll  tell  her 
that!  She  always  says  you  dislike  her.” 

The  performance  over,  Selden’s  fii^st  impulse  was  to  seek 
Miss  Bart.  During  the  interlude  of  music  which  succeeded 
the  tableaux,  the  actors  had  seated  themselves  here  and 
there  in  the  audience,  diversifying  its  conventional  ap- 
pearance by  the  varied  picturesqueness  of  their  dress. 
Lily,  however,  was  not  among  them,  and  her  absence 
served  to  protract  the  effect  she  had  produced  on  Selden  - 
it  would  have  broken  the  spell  to  see  her  too  soon  in  the 
surroundings  from  which  accident  had  so  happily  de- 
tached her.  They  had  not  met  since  the  day  of  the  Van 

f 218  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Osburgh  wedding,  and  on  his  side  the  avoidance  had  been 
intentional.  Tonight,  however,  he  knew  that,  sooner  or 
later,  he  should  find  himself  at  her  side;  and  though  he 
let  the  dispersing  crowd  drift  him  whither  it  would,  with- 
out making  an  immediate  effort  to  reach  her,  his  pro- 
crastination was  not  due  to  any  lingering  resistance,  but 
to  the  desire  to  luxuriate  a moment  in  the  sense  of  com- 
plete surrender. 

Lily  had  not  an  instant’s  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of 
the  murmur  greeting  her  appearance.  No  other  tableau 
had  been  received  with  that  precise  note  of  approval : it 
had  obviously  been  called  forth  by  herself,  and  not  by 
the  picture  she  impersonated.  She  had  feared  at  the  last 
moment  that  she  was  risking  too  much  in  dispensing 
with  the  advantages  of  a more  sumptuous  setting,  and 
the  completeness  of  her  triumph  gave  her  an  intoxicat- 
ing sense  of  recovered  power.  Not  caring  to  diminish  the 
impression  she  had  produced,  she  held  herself  aloof  from 
the  audience  till  the  movement  of  dispersal  before  sup- 
per, and  thus  had  a second  opportunity  of  showing  her- 
self to  advantage,  as  the  throng  poured  slowly  into  the 
empty  drawing-room  where  she  was  standing. 

She  was  soon  the  centre  of  a group  which  increased 
and  renewed  itself  as  the  circulation  became  general,  and 
the  individual  comments  on  her  success  were  a delight- 
ful prolongation  of  the  collective  applause.  At  such  mo- 
ments she  lost  something  of  her  natural  fastidiousness, 
[ 219  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  cared  less  for  the  quality  of  the  admiration  received 
than  for  its  quantity.  Differences  of  personality  were 
merged  in  a warm  atmosphere  of  praise,  in  which  her 
beauty  expanded  like  a flower  in  sunlight;  and  if  Sel- 
den  had  approached  a moment  or  two  sooner  he  would 
have  seen  her  turning  on  Ned  Van  Alstyne  and  George 
Dorset  the  look  he  had  dreamed  of  capturing  for  him- 
self. 

Fortune  willed,  however,  that  the  hurried  approach  of 
Mrs.  Fisher,  as  whose  aide-de-camp  Van  Alstyne  was 
acting,  should  break  up  the  group  before  Selden  reached 
the  threshold  of  the  room.  One  or  two  of  the  men  wan- 
dered off  in  search  of  their  partners  for  supper,  and  the 
others,  noticing  Selden’s  approach,  gave  way  to  him  in 
accordance  w ith  the  tacit  free-masonry  of  the  ball-room. 
Lily  was  therefore  standing  alone  wEen  he  reached  her; 
and  finding  the  expected  look  in  her  eye,  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  supposing  he  had  kindled  it.  The  look  did 
indeed  deepen  as  it  rested  on  him,  for  even  in  that  mo- 
ment of  self-intoxication  Lily  felt  the  quicker  beat  of 
life  that  his  nearness  always  produced.  She  read,  too,  in 
his  answering  gaze  the  delicious  confirmation  of  her  tri- 
umph, and  for  the  moment  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was 
for  him  only  she  cared  to  be  beautiful. 

Selden  had  given  her  his  ai'in  without  speaking.  She 
look  it  in  silence,  and  they  moved  away,  not  toward  the 
supper-room,  but  against  the  tide  which  was  setting 
[ 220  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


thither.  The  faces  about  her  flowed  by  like  the  streaming 
images  of  sleep:  she  hardly  noticed  where  Selden  was 
leading  her,  till  they  passed  through  a glass  doorway  at 
the  end  of  the  long  suite  of  rooms  and  stood  suddenly 
in  the  fragrant  hush  of  a garden.  Gravel  grated  beneath 
their  feet,  and  about  them  was  the  transparent  dimness 
of  a midsummer  night.  Hanging  lights  made  emerald 
caverns  in  the  depths  of  foliage,  and  whitened  the  spray 
of  a fountain  falling  among  lilies.  The  magic  place  was 
deserted;  there  was  no  sound  but  the  plash  of  the  water 
on  the  lily-pads,  and  a distant  drift  of  music  that  might 
have  been  blown  across  a sleeping  lake. 

Selden  and  Lily  stood  still,  accepting  the  unreality  of 
the  scene  as  a part  of  their  own  dream-like  sensations. 
It  would  not  have  surprised  them  to  feel  a summer  breeze 
on  their  faces,  or  to  see  the  lights  among  the  boughs  re- 
duplicated in  the  arch  of  a starry  sky.  The  strange  soli- 
tude about  them  was  no  stranger  than  the  sweetness  of 
being  alone  in  it  together. 

At  length  Lily  withdrew  her  hand,  and  moved  away 
a step,  so  that  her  white-robed  slimness  was  outlined 
against  the  dusk  of  the  branches.  Selden  followed  her, 
and  still  without  speaking  they  seated  themselves  on  a 
bench  beside  the  fountain. 

Suddenly  she  raised  her  eyes  with  the  beseeching  earn- 
estness of  a child.  “You  never  speak  to  me — you  think 
hard  things  of  me,”  she  murmured. 

[ 221  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“I  think  of  you  at  any  rate,  God  knows!”  he  said. 

“Then  why  do  we  never  see  each  other?  TVTiy  can’t 
we  be  friends?  You  promised  once  to  help  me,”  she  con- 
tinued in  the  same  tone,  as  though  the  words  were  drawn 
from  her  unwillingly. 

“The  only  way  I can  help  you  is  by  loving  you,” 
Selden  said  in  a low  voice. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  her  face  turned  to  him  with 
the  soft  motion  of  a flower.  His  own  met  it  slowly,  and 
their  lips  touched. 

She  drew  back  and  rose  from  her  seat.  Selden  rose  too, 
and  they  stood  facing  each  other.  Suddenly  she  caught 
his  hand  and  pressed  it  a moment  against  her  cheek, 

“Ah,  love  me,  love  me — but  don’t  tell  me  so!”  she 
sighed  with  her  eyes  in  his;  and  before  he  could  speak 
she  had  turned  and  slipped  through  the  arch  of  boughs, 
disappearing  in  the  brightness  of  the  room  beyond. 

Selden  stood  where  she  had  left  him.  He  knew  too 
well  the  transiency  of  exquisite  moments  to  attempt  to 
follow  her;  but  presently  he  reentered  the  house  and 
made  his  way  through  the  deserted  rooms  to  the  door.  A 
few  sumptuously-cloaked  ladies  were  already  gathered 
in  the  marble  vestibule,  and  in  the  coat-room  he  found 
Van  Alstyne  and  Gus  Trenor. 

The  former,  at  Selden’s  approach,  paused  in  the  care- 
ful selection  of  a cigar  from  one  of  the  silver  boxes  in- 
vitingly set  out  near  the  door. 

[ 222  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Hallo,  Selden,  going  too?  You  ’re  an  Epicurean  like 
myself,  I see:  you  don’t  want  to  see  all  those  goddesses 
gobbling  terrapin.  Gad,  what  a show  of  good-looking 
women ; but  not  one  of  ’em  could  touch  that  little  cousin 
of  mine.  Talk  of  jewels — what’s  a woman  want  with 
jewels  when  she’s  got  herself  to  show?  The  trouble  is 
that  all  these  fal-bals  they  wear  cover  up  their  figures 
when  they ’ve  got  ’em.  I never  knew  till  tonight  what  an 
outline  Lily  has.” 

“It’s  not  her  fault  if  everybody  don’t  know  it  now,” 
growled  Trenor,  flushed  with  the  struggle  of  getting 
into  his  fur-lined  coat.  “Damned  bad  taste,  I call  it — 
no,  no  cigar  for  me.  You  can ’t  tell  what  you  ’re  smoking 
in  one  of  these  new  houses — likely  as  not  the  cAg/'buys 
the  cigars.  Stay  for  supper  ? Not  if  I know  it!  When  peo- 
ple crowd  their  rooms  so  that  you  can’t  get  near  any  one 
you  want  to  speak  to,  I’d  as  soon  sup  in  the  elevated 
at  the  rush  hour.  My  wife  was  dead  right  to  stay  away: 
she  says  life’s  too  short  to  spend  it  in  breaking  in  new 
people.” 

XIII 

Lily  woke  from  happy  dreams  to  find  two  notes  at 
j her  bed-side. 

One  was  from  Mrs.  Trenor,  who  announced  that  she 
was  coming  to  town  that  afternoon  for  a flying  visit, 
and  hoped  Miss  Bart  would  be  able  to  dine  with  her. 
[ 223  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


The  other  was  from  Selden.  He  wrote  briefly  that  an 
important  case  called  him  to  Albany,  whence  he  would 
be  unable  to  return  till  the  evening,  and  asked  Lily  to 
let  him  know  at  what  hour  on  the  following  day  she 
would  see  him. 

Lily,  leaning  back  among  her  pillows,  gazed  musingly 
at  his  letter.  The  scene  in  the  Brys’  conservator^"  had 
been  like  a part  of  her  dreams;  she  had  not  expected  to 
wake  to  such  evidence  of  its  reality.  Her  first  movement 
was  one  of  annoyance:  this  unforeseen  act  of  Selden’s 
added  another  complication  to  life.  It  was  so  unlike  him 
to  yield  to  such  an  irrational  impulse!  Did  he  really 
mean  to  ask  her  to  marry  him  ? She  had  once  shown  him 
the  impossibility  of  such  a hope,  and  his  subsequent  be- 
haviour seemed  to  prove  that  he  had  accepted  the  situa- 
tion with  a reasonableness  somewhat  mortifying  to  her 
vanity.  It  was  all  the  more  agreeable  to  find  that  this 
reasonableness  was  maintained  only  at  the  cost  of  not 
seeing  her;  but,  though  nothing  in  life  was  as  sweet  as 
the  sense  of  her  power  over  him,  she  saw  the  danger  of 
allovang  the  episode  of  the  preUous  night  to  have  a se- 
quel. Since  she  could  not  marry  him,  it  would  be  kindej 
to  him,  as  well  as  easier  for  herself,  to  Avrite  a line  ami- 
cably evading  his  request  to  see  her : he  was  not  the  man 
to  mistake  such  a hint,  and  when  next  they  met  it  would 
be  on  their  usual  fi’iendly  footing. 

Lily  sprang  out  of  bed,  and  AA  ent  straight  to  her  desk- 

[ 224  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


She  wanted  to  write  at  once,  while  she  could  tnist  to  the 
strength  of  her  resolve.  She  was  still  languid  from  her 
brief  sleep  and  the  exhilaration  of  the  evening,  and  the 
sight  of  Selden’s  writing  brought  back  the  culminating 
moment  of  her  triumph : the  moment  when  she  had  read 
in  his  eyes  that  no  philosophy  was  proof  against  her 
power.  It  would  be  pleasant  to  have  that  sensation  again 
...  no  one  else  could  give  it  to  her  in  its  fulness ; and  she 
could  not  bear  to  mar  her  mood  of  luxurious  retrospec- 
tion by  an  act  of  definite  refusal.  She  took  up  her  pen 
and  wrote  hastily:  '‘‘‘Tomorrow  at  four;'’"'  murmuring  to 
herself,  as  she  slipped  the  sheet  into  its  envelope:  “I  can 
easily  put  him  off  when  tomorrow  comes.” 

Judy  Trenor’s  summons  was  very  welcome  to  Lily.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  received  a direct  communication 
from  Bellomont  since  the  close  of  her  last  visit  there,  and 
she  was  still  visited  by  the  dread  of  having  incurred  Judy’s 
displeasure.  But  this  characteristic  command  seemed  to 
reestablish  their  former  relations ; and  Lily  smiled  at  the 
thought  that  her  friend  had  probably  summoned  her  in 
order  to  hear  about  the  Brys’  entertainment.  Mrs.  Tre- 
nor  had  absented  herself  from  the  feast,  perhaps  for  the 
reason  so  frankly  enunciated  by  her  husband,  perhaps 
because,  as  Mrs.  Fisher  somewhat  differently  put  it,  she 
“couldn’t  bear  new  people  when  she  hadn’t  discovered 
them  herself.”  At  any  rate,  though  she  remained  haught- 
[ 225  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ily  at  Bellomont,  Lily  suspected  in  her  a devouring 
eagerness  to  hear  of  what  she  had  missed,  and  to  learn 
exactly  in  what  measure  Mrs.  Wellington  Bry  had  sur- 
passed all  previous  competitors  for  social  recognition.  Lily 
was  quite  ready  to  gratify  this  curiosity,  but  it  happened 
that  she  was  dining  out.  She  determined,  however,  to  see 
Mrs.  Trenor  for  a few  moments,  and  ringing  for  her  maid 
she  despatched  a telegram  to  say  that  she  would  be  with 
her  friend  that  evening  at  ten. 

She  was  dining  with  Mrs.  Fisher,  who  had  gathered  at 
an  informal  feast  a few  of  the  performers  of  the  previous 
evening.  There  was  to  be  plantation  music  in  the  studio 
after  dinner — for  Mrs.  Fisher,  despairing  of  the  repub- 
lic, had  taken  up  modeUing,  and  annexed  to  her  small 
crowded  house  a spacious  apartment,  which,  whatever  its 
uses  in  her  hours  of  plastic  inspiration,  served  at  other 
times  for  the  exercise  of  an  indefatigable  hospitality. 
Lily  was  reluctant  to  leave,  for  the  dinner  was  amusing, 
and  she  would  have  liked  to  lounge  over  a cigarette  and 
hear  a few  songs;  but  she  could  not  break  her  engage- 
ment with  Judy,  and  shortly  after  ten  she  asked  her 
hostess  to  ring  for  a hansom,  and  drove  up  Fifth  Avenue 
to  the  Trenors’. 

She  waited  long  enough  on  the  doorstep  to  wonder 
that  Judy’s  presence  in  town  was  not  signalized  by  a 
greater  promptness  in  admitting  her;  and  her  surprise 
was  increased  when,  instead  of  the  expected  footman, 
[ 226  ] 


\ 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

pushing  his  shoulders  into  a tardy  coat,  a shabby  care- 
taking person  in  calico  let  her  into  the  shrouded  hall. 
Trenor,  however,  appeared  at  once  on  the  threshold  of 
the  drawing-room,  welcoming  her  with  unusual  volu- 
bility while  he  relieved  her  of  her  cloak  and  di-ew  her 
into  the  room. 

“ Come  along  to  the  den ; it ’s  the  only  comfortable 
place  in  the  house.  Does  n’t  this  room  look  as  if  it  was 
waiting  for  the  body  to  be  brought  down.?  Can’t  see  why 
Judy  keeps  the  house  wrapped  up  in  this  awful  slippery 
white  stuff — it’s  enough  to  give  a fellow  pneumonia  to 
walk  thi'ough  these  rooms  on  a cold  day.  You  look  a 
little  pinched  yourself,  by  the  way:  it’s  rather  a sharp 
night  out.  I noticed  it  walking  up  from  the  club.  Come 
along,  and  I’ll  give  you  a nip  of  brandy,  and  you  can 
toast  yourself  over  the  fire  and  try  some  of  my  new 
Egyptians — that  little  Turkish  chap  at  the  Embassy 
put  me  on  to  a brand  that  I want  you  to  try,  and  if  you 
like  ’em  I’ll  get  out  a lot  for  you:  they  don’t  have  ’em 
here  yet,  but  I ’ll  cable.” 

He  led  her  through  the  house  to  the  large  room  at  the 
back,  where  Mrs.  Trenor  usually  sat,  and  where,  even  in 
her  absence,  there  was  an  air  of  occupancy.  Here,  as  usual, 
were  flowers,  newspapers,  a littered  writing-table,  and  a 
general  aspect  of  lamp-lit  familiarity,  so  that  it  was  a 
surprise  not  to  see  Judy’s  energetic  figure  start  up  from 
the  arm-chair  near  the  fire. 

[ m ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


It  was  apparently  Trenor  himself  who  had  been  occu- 
pying  the  seat  in  question,  for  it  was  overhung  by  a 
cloud  of  cigar  smoke,  and  near  it  stood  one  of  those  in- 
tricate folding  tables  which  British  ingenuity  has  de\used 
to  facilitate  the  circulation  of  tobacco  and  spirits.  The 
sight  of  such  appliances  in  a drawing-room  was  not  un- 
usual in  Lily’s  set,  where  smoking  and  drinking  were  un- 
restricted by  considerations  of  time  and  place,  and  her 
first  movement  was  to  help  herself  to  one  of  the  ciga- 
rettes recommended  by  Trenor,  while  she  checked  his  lo- 
quacity by  asking,  with  a surprised  glance:  “Mliere’s 
Judy.?” 

Trenor,  a little  heated  by  his  unusual  flow  of  words, 
and  perhaps  by  prolonged  propinquity  with  the  decan- 
ters, was  bending  over  the  latter  to  decipher  their  silver 
labels. 

“Here,  now,  Lily,  just  a drop  of  cognac  in  a little 
fizzy  water — you  do  look  pinched,  you  know:  I swear 
the  end  of  your  nose  is  red.  I’ll  take  another  glass  to 
keep  you  company — Judy.? — MTiy,  you  see,  Judy ’s  got 
a devil  of  a headache — quite  knocked  out  with  it,  poor 
thing — she  asked  me  to  explain — make  it  all  right,  you 
know — Do  come  up  to  the  fire,  though;  you  look  dead- 
beat, really.  Now  do  let  me  make  you  comfortable,  there’s 
a good  girl.” 

He  had  taken  her  hand,  half-banteringly,  and  was 
drawng  her  toward  a low  seat  by  the  hearth;  but  she 
[ 228  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


stopped  aiid  freed  herself  quietly. 

“Ho  you  mean  to  say  that  Judy’s  not  well  enough  to 
see  me.?  Doesn’t  she  want  me  to  go  upstairs.?” 

Trenor  drained  the  glass  he  had  filled  for  himself,  and 
paused  to  set  it  down  before  he  answered. 

“Why,  no — the  fact  is,  she’s  not  up  to  seeing  any- 
body. It  came  on  suddenly,  you  know,  and  she  asked  me 
to  tell  you  how  awfully  sorry  she  was — if  she’d  known 
where  you  were  dining  she ’d  have  sent  you  word.” 

“She  did  know  where  I was  dining;  I mentioned  it  in 
my  telegram.  But  it  does  n’t  matter,  of  course.  I suppose 
if  she ’s  so  poorly  she  won’t  go  back  to  Bellomont  in  the 
morning,  and  I can  come  and  see  her  then.” 

“Yes:  exactly — that ’s  capital.  I ’ll  tell  her  you  ’ll  pop 
in  tomorrow  morning.  And  now  do  sit  down  a minute, 
there ’s  a dear,  and  let ’s  have  a nice  quiet  jaw  together. 
You  won’t  take  a drop,  just  for  sociability.?  Tell  me 
what  you  think  of  that  cigarette.  Why,  don’t  you  like 
it?  What  are  you  chucking  it  away  for?” 

“I  am  chucking  it  away  because  I must  go,  if  you’ll 
have  the  goodness  to  call  a cab  for  me,”  Lily  returned 
with  a smile. 

She  did  not  like  Trenor’s  unusual  excitability,  with  its 
too  evident  explanation,  and  the  thought  of  being  alone 
with  him,  with  her  friend  out  of  reach  upstairs,  at  fhe 
other  end  of  the  great  empty  house,  did  not  conduce  to 
a desire  to  prolong  their  tete-a-tete. 

[ 229  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


But  Trenor,  with  a promptness  w'hich  did  not  escape 
her,  had  moved  between  herself  and  the  door. 

“Why  must  you  go,  I should  like  to  know?  K Judy ’d 
been  here  you’d  have  sat  gossiping  till  all  hours — and 
you  can’t  even  give  me  five  minutes ! It ’s  always  the  same 
story.  Last  night  I couldn’t  get  near  you — I went  to 
that  damned  vulgar  party  just  to  see  you,  and  there  was 
everybody  talking  about  you,  and  asking  me  if  I ’d  ever 
seen  anything  so  stunning,  and  when  I tried  to  come  up 
and  say  a word,  you  never  took  any  notice,  but  just  went 
on  laughing  and  joking  vdth  a lot  of  asses  who  only 
wanted  to  be  able  to  swagger  about  afterward,  and  look 
knowing  when  you  were  mentioned.” 

He  paused,  flushed  by  his  diatribe,  and  fixing  on  her 
a look  in  which  resentment  was  the  ingredient  she  least 
disliked.  But  she  had  regained  her  presence  of  mind,  and 
stood  composedly  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  while  her 
slight  smile  seemed  to  put  an  ever  increasing  distance 
between  herself  and  Trenor. 

Across  it  she  said:  “Don’t  be  absurd,  Gus.  It’s  past 
eleven,  and  I must  really  ask  you  to  ring  for  a cab.” 

He  remained  immovable,  wdth  the  lowering  forehead 
she  had  grovTi  to  detest. 

“And  supposing  I won’t  ring  for  one — what’ll  you 
do  then?” 

“I  shall  go  upstairs  to  Judy  if  you  force  me  to  dis- 
turb her.” 


[ 230  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Trenor  drew  a step  nearer  and  laid  his  hand  on  her 
arm.  “Look  here,  Lily:  won’t  you  give  me  five  minutes 
of  your  own  accord.?” 

“Not  tonight,  Gus:you ” 

“Very  good,  then:  I ’ll  take  ’em.  And  as  many  more  as 
I want.”  He  had  squared  himself  on  the  threshold,  his 
hands  thrust  deep  in  his  pockets.  He  nodded  toward  the 
chair  on  the  hearth. 

“Go  and  sit  down  there,  please:  I’ve  got  a word  to 
say  to  you.” 

Lily’s  quick  temper  was  getting  the  better  of  her  fears. 
She  drew  herself  up  and  moved  toward  the  door. 

“If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  me,  you  must  say  it 
another  time.  I shall  go  up  to  Judy  unless  you  call  a 
cab  for  me  at  once.” 

He  burst  into  a laugh.  “Go  upstairs  and  welcome, 
my  dear;  but  you  won’t  find  Judy.  She  ain’t  there.” 

Lily  cast  a startled  look  upon  him.  “Do  you  mean 
that  Judy  is  not  in  the  house — not  in  town.?”  she  ex- 
claimed. 

“That ’s  just  what  I do  mean,”  returned  Trenor,  his 
bluster  sinking  to  sullenness  under  her  look. 

“Nonsense — I don’t  believe  you.  I am  going  up- 
staim,”  she  said  impatiently. 

He  drew  unexpectedly  aside,  letting  her  reach  the 
threshold  unimpeded. 

“Go  up  and  welcome;  but  my  wife  is  at  Bellomont.” 

[ 281  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


But  Lily  had  a flash  of  reassurance.  “If  she  hadn’t 
come  she  would  have  sent  me  word ” 

“She  did;  she  telephoned  me  this  afternoon  to  let 
you  know.” 

“I  received  no  message.” 

“I  didn’t  send  any.” 

The  two  measured  each  other  for  a moment,  but  Lily 
stiU  saw  her  opponent  through  a blur  of  scorn  that  made 
aU  other  considerations  indistinct. 

“I  can’t  imagine  your  object  in  playing  such  a stu- 
pid trick  on  me;  but  if  you  have  fully  gi’atified  your 
peculiar  sense  of  humour  I must  again  ask  you  to  send 
for  a cab.” 

It  was  the  wTong  note,  and  she  knew  it  as  she  spoke. 
To  be  stung  by  irony  it  is  not  necessary  to  understand 
it,  and  the  angiy  streaks  on  Trenor’s  face  might  have 
been  raised  by  an  actual  lash. 

“Look  here,  Lily,  don’t  take  that  high  and  mighty 
tone  with  me.”  He  had  again  moved  toward  the  door, 
and  in  her  instinctive  slirinking  from  him  she  let  him 
regain  command  of  the  threshold.  “ I did  play  a trick  on 
you;  I own  up  to  it;  but  if  you  think  I’m  ashamed 
you  ’re  mistaken.  Lord  knows  I ’ve  been  patient  enough 
—I’ve  huiiff  round  and  looked  like  an  ass.  And  all  the 
while  you  were  letting  a lot  of  other  fellows  make  up  to 
you  . . . letting  ’em  make  fun  of  me,  I daresay  ...  I ‘m 
not  sharp,  and  can’t  dress  my  friends  up  to  look  funny, 
[ 232  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


as  you  do  . . . but  I can  tell  when  it ’s  being  done  to  me 
...  1 can  tell  fast  enough  when  I ’m  made  a fool  of ...  ” 

“Ah,  I shouldn’t  have  thought  that!”  flashed  from 
Lily;  but  her  laugh  dropped  to  silence  under  his  look. 

“No;  you  would  n’t  have  thought  it;  but  you’ll  know 
better  now.  That’s  what  you’re  here  for  tonight.  I’ve 
been  waiting  for  a quiet  time  to  talk  things  over,  and 
now  I ’ve  got  it  I mean  to  make  you  hear  me  out.” 

His  first  rush  of  inarticulate  resentment  had  been  fol- 
lowed by  a steadiness  and  concentration  of  tone  more 
disconcerting  to  Lily  than  the  excitement  preceding  it. 
For  a moment  her  presence  of  mind  forsook  her.  She 
had  more  than  once  been  in  situations  where  a quick 
sword-play  of  wit  had  been  needful  to  cover  her  retreat ; 
but  her  frightened  heart-throbs  told  her  that  here  such 
skill  would  not  avail. 

To  gain  time  she  repeated:  “I  don’t  understand  what 
you  want.” 

Trenor  had  pushed  a chair  between  hei’self  and  the 
door.  He  thi'ew  himself  in  it,  and  leaned  back,  looking 
up  at  her. 

“I’U  tell  you  what  I want:  I want  to  know  just  where 
you  and  I stand.  Hang  it,  the  man  who  pays  for  the  din- 
ner is  generally  allowed  to  have  a seat  at  table.” 

She  flamed  with  anger  and  abasement,  and  the  sicken- 
ing need  of  having  to  conciliate  where  she  longed  to 
humble. 

[ 233  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“I  don’t  know  what  you  mean — but  you  must  see.  Gus, 
that  I can’t  stay  here  talking  to  you  at  this  hour ” 

“Gad,  you  go  to  men’s  houses  fast  enough  in  broad 
daylight — strikes  me  you’re  not  always  so  deuced  care- 
ful of  appearances.” 

The  brutality  of  the  thrust  gave  her  the  sense  of  diz- 
ziness that  follows  on  a physical  blow.  Rosedale  had 
spoken  then — this  was  the  way  men  talked  of  her — 
She  felt  suddenly  weak  and  defenceless:  there  was  a 
thi’ob  of  self-pity  in  her  throat.  But  all  the  while  an- 
other self  was  sharpening  her  to  vigilance,  whispering 
the  terrified  warning  that  every  word  and  gesture  must 
be  measured. 

“If  you  have  brought  me  here  to  say  insulting  things 
” she  began. 

Trenor  laughed.  “Don’t  talk  stage-rot.  I don’t  want 
to  insult  you.  But  a man ’s  got  his  feelings — and  you ’ve 
played  with  mine  too  long.  I did  n’t  begin  this  business 
— kept  out  of  the  way,  and  left  the  track  clear  for  the 
other  chaps,  till  you  rummaged  me  out  and  set  to  work 
to  make  an  ass  of  me — and  an  easy  job  you  had  of  it, 
too.  That’s  the  trouble — it  was  too  easy  for  you — you 
got  reckless — thought  you  could  turn  me  inside  out, 
and  chuck  me  in  the  gutter  like  an  empty  purse.  But, 
by  gad,  that  ain’t  plajing  fair:  that’s  dodging  the  rules 
of  the  game.  Of  course  I know  now  what  you  wanted — 
it  wasn’t  my  beautiful  eyes  you  were  after — but  I tell 
I 234  ] 


“ I mean  to  make  you  hear  me  out.” 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


you  what,  Miss  Lily,  you ’ve  got  to  pay  up  for  making 
me  think  so ” 

He  rose,  squaring  his  shoulders  aggressively,  and 
stepped  toward  her  with  a reddening  brow;  but  she  held 
her  footing,  though  every  nerve  tore  at  her  to  retreat 
as  he  advanced. 

“Pay  up?”  she  faltered.  “Do  you  mean  that  I owe 
you  money?” 

He  laughed  again.  “ Oh,  I 'm  not  asking  for  payment 
in  kind.  But  there’s  such  a thing  as  fair  play — and  in- 
terest on  one’s  money — and  hang  me  if  I ’ve  had  as  much 
as  a look  from  you ” 

“Your  money?  What  have  I to  do  with  your  money? 
You  advised  me  how  to  invest  mine  . . . you  must  have 
seen  I knew  nothing  of  business  . . . you  told  me  it  was 
aU  right ” 

“It  was  all  right — it  is,  Lily:  you’re  welcome  to  all 
of  it,  and  ten  times  more.  I ’m  only  asking  for  a word  of 
thanks  from  you.”  He  was  closer  still,  with  a hand  that 
grew  formidable;  and  the  frightened  self  in  her  was  drag- 
ging the  other  down. 

“I  have  thanked  you;  I’ve  shown  I was  grateful.  What 
more  have  you  done  than  any  friend  might  do,  or  any  one 
accept  from  a friend?” 

Trenor  caught  her  up  with  a sneer.  “I  don’t  doubt 
you’ve  accepted  as  much  before — and  chucked  the  other 
chaps  as  you ’d  like  to  chuck  me.  I don’t  care  how  you 
[ 2S5  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


settled  your  score  with  them — if  you  fooled  ’em  I’m 
that  much  to  the  good.  Don’t  stare  at  me  hke  that — I 
know  I ’m  not  talking  the  way  a man  is  supposed  to  talk 
to  a girl — but,  hang  it,  if  you  don’t  like  it  you  can  stop 
me  quick  enough — you  know  I’m  mad  about  you — 
damn  the  money,  there ’s  plenty  more  of  it — if  that 
bothers  you  ...  I was  a brute,  Lily — Lily! — just  look 
at  me ” 

Over  and  over  her  the  sea  of  humiliation  broke — 
wave  crashing  on  wave  so  close  that  the  moral  shame 
was  one  with  the  physical  dread.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
self-esteem  would  have  made  her  invulnerable — that  it 
was  her  own  dishonour  which  put  a fearful  solitude 
about  her. 

His  touch  was  a shock  to  her  drowning  consciousness. 
She  drew  back  from  him  with  a desperate  assumption  of 
scorn. 

“I’ve  told  you  I don’t  understand — but  if  I owe  you 
money  you  shall  be  paid ” 

Trenoi'’s  face  darkened  to  rage:  her  recoil  of  abhor- 
rence had  called  out  the  primitive  man. 

“Ah — you’ll  borrow  from  Selden  or  Rosedaie — and 
take  your  chances  of  fooling  them  as  you ’ve  fooled  me! 
Unless — unless  you’ve  settled  your  other  scores  already 
— and  I’m  the  only  one  left  out  in  the  cold!” 

She  stood  silent,  frozen  to  her  place.  Tlie  words — the 
words  were  worse  than  the  touch!  Her  heart  was  beat- 

r 236  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ing  all  over  her  body — in  her  throat,  her  limbs,  hei 
helpl  ess  useless  hands.  Her  eyes  travelled  despairingly 
about  the  room — they  lit  on  the  bell,  and  she  remem- 
bered that  help  was  in  call.  Yes,  but  scandal  with  it- — 
a hideous  mustering  of  tongues.  No,  she  must  fight  her 
way  out  alone.  It  was  enough  that  the  servants  knew 
her  to  be  in  the  house  with  Trenor — there  must  be 
nothing  to  excite  conjecture  in  her  way  of  leaving  it. 

She  raised  her  head,  and  achieved  a last  clear  look  a± 
him. 

“I  am  here  alone  with  you,”  she  said.  “What  more 
have  you  to  say.?*” 

To  her  surprise,  Trenor  answered  the  look  with  a 
speechless  stare.  With  his  last  gust  of  words  the  flame 
had  died  out,  leaving  him  chill  and  humbled.  It  was  as 
though  a cold  air  had  dispersed  the  fumes  of  his  liba- 
tions, and  the  situation  loomed  before  him  black  and 
naked  as  the  imins  of  a fire.  Old  habits,  old  restraints, 
the  hand  of  inherited  order,  plucked  back  the  bewil- 
dered mind  which  passion  had  jolted  from  its  ruts.  Tre- 
nor’s  eye  had  the  haggard  look  of  the  sleep-walker 
waked  on  a deathly  ledge. 

“Go  home!  Go  away  from  here” he  stammered, 

and  turning  his  back  on  her  walked  toward  the  hearth. 

The  shai-p  release  from  her  fears  restored  Lily  to  im- 
mediate lucidity.  The  collapse  of  Trenor’s  will  left  hei' 
in  control,  and  she  heard  herself,  in  a voice  that  was  her 

[ 237  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


own  yet  outside  herself,  bidding  him  ring  for  the  ser- 
vant, bidding  him  give  the  order  for  a hansom,  direct- 
ing him  to  put  her  in  it  when  it  came.  "Whence  the 
strength  came  to  her  she  knew  not;  but  an  insistent  voice 
warned  her  that  she  must  leave  the  house  openly,  and 
nerved  her,  in  the  hall  before  the  hovering  care-taker,  to 
exchange  light  words  with  Trenor,  and  charge  him  with 
the  usual  messages  for  Judy,  while  aU  the  while  she  shook 
with  inward  loathing.  On  the  doorstep,  with  the  street 
before  her,  she  felt  a mad  throb  of  liberation,  intoxi- 
cating as  the  prisoner’s  first  draught  of  free  air;  but  the 
clearness  of  brain  continued,  and  she  noted  the  mute  as- 
pect of  Fifth  Avenue,  guessed  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour, 
and  even  observed  a man’s  figure — was  there  something 
half-familiar  in  its  outline  — which,  as  she  entered  the 
hansom,  turned  from  the  opposite  comer  and  vanished 
in  the  obscurity  of  the  side  street. 

But  with  the  turn  of  the  wheels  reaction  came,  and 
shuddering  darkness  closed  on  her.  “I  can’t  think — I 
can’t  think,”  she  moaned,  and  leaned  her  head  against 
the  rattling  side  of  the  cab.  She  seemed  a stranger  to 
herself,  or  rather  there  were  two  selves  in  her,  the  one 
she  had  always  known,  and  a new  abhorrent  being  to 
which  it  found  itself  chained.  She  had  once  picked  up,  in 
a house  where  she  was  staying,  a translation  of  the  Eu- 
menides,  and  her  imagination  had  been  seized  by  the 
high  terror  of  the  scene  where  Orestes,  in  the  cave  of  the 
[ 238  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


oracle,  finds  his  implacable  huntresses  asleep,  and  snatches 
an  hour’s  repose.  Yes,  the  Furies  might  sometimes  sleep, 
but  they  were  there,  always  there  in  the  dark  corners^ 
and  now  they  were  awake  and  the  iron  clang  of  their 
wings  was  in  her  brain  . , . She  opened  her  eyes  and  saw 
the  streets  passing — the  familiar  alien  streets.  All  she 
looked  on  was  the  same  and  yet  changed.  There  was  a 
great  gulf  fixed  between  today  and  yesterday.  Every= 
thing  in  the  past  seemed  simple,  natural,  full  of  daylight 
— and  she  was  alone  in  a place  of  darkness  and  pollution. 
— Alone!  It  was  the  loneliness  that  frightened  her.  Her 
eyes  feU  on  an  illuminated  clock  at  a street  corner,  and 
she  saw  that  the  hands  marked  the  half  hour  after  eleven. 
Only  half-past  eleven — there  were  hours  and  hours  left 
of  the  night!  And  she  must  spend  them  alone,  shudder= 
ing  sleepless  on  her  bed.  Her  soft  nature  recoUed  from 
this  ordeal,  which  had  none  of  the  stimulus  of  conflict  to 
goad  her  through  it.  Oh,  the  slow  cold  drip  of  the  min-= 
utes  on  her  head!  She  had  a vision  of  herself  lying  on  the 
black  walnut  bed — and  the  darkness  would  frighten  her, 
and  if  she  left  the  light  burning  the  dreary  details  of  the 
room  would  brand  themselves  forever  on  her  brain.  She 
had  always  hated  her  room  at  Mrs.  Peniston’s — its  ugli- 
ness, its  impersonality,  the  fact  that  nothing  in  it  was 
really  hers.  To  a tom  heart  uncomforted  by  human  near- 
ness a room  may  open  almost  human  arms,  and  the  being 
to  whom  no  four  walls  mean  more  than  any  others,  is,  at 

j m 1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


such  hours,  expatriate  everywhere, 

Lily  had  no  heart  to  lean  on.  Her  relation  with  hex 
aunt  was  as  superficial  as  that  of  chance  lodgers  who  pass 
on  the  stairs.  But  even  had  the  two  been  in  closer  con- 
tact, it  was  impossible  to  think  of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  mind 
as  offering  shelter  or  comprehension  to  such  misery  as 
Lily’s.  As  the  pain  that  can  be  told  is  but  half  a pain, 
so  the  pity  that  questions  has  little  healing  in  its  touch. 
What  Lily  craved  was  the  darkness  made  by  enfolding 
arms,  the  silence  which  is  not  solitude,  but  compassion 
holding  its  breath. 

She  staided  up  and  looked  forth  on  the  passing  streets. 
Gerty! — they  were  nearing  Gerty’s  comer.  If  only  she 
could  reach  there  before  this  labouring  anguish  burst 
from  her  breast  to  her  bps — if  only  she  could  feel  the 
hold  of  Gerty’s  arms  while  she  shook  in  the  ague-fit  of 
fear  that  Avas  coming  upon  her ! She  pushed  up  the  door 
in  the  roof  and  called  the  address  to  the  driver.  It  was 
not  so  late — Gerty  might  still  be  Avaking.  And  even  if 
she  Avere  not,  the  sound  of  the  bell  Avould  penetrate  eA'eiy 
recess  of  her  tiny  apartment,  and  rouse  her  to  ansAAer  her 
friend’s  call. 

XIV 

Gerty  Parish,  the  morning  after  the  Welling- 
ton Brys’  entertainment,  Avoke  from  dreams  as 
happy  as  Lily’s.  If  they  Avere  less  \dvid  in  hue,  more  sub- 
[ 240  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


dued  to  the  half- tints  of  her  personality  and  her  experi- 
ence, they  were  for  that  very  reason  better  suited  to  her 
mental  vision.  Such  flashes  of  joy  as  Lily  moved  in  would 
have  blinded  Miss  Farish,  who  was  accustomed,  in  the 
way  of  happiness,  to  such  scant  light  as  shone  through 
the  cracks  of  other  people’s  lives. 

Now  she  was  the  centre  of  a little  illumination  of  her 
own:  a mild  but  unmistakable  beam,  compounded  of 
Lawrence  Selden’s  growing  kindness  to  herself  and  the 
discovery  that  he  extended  his  liking  to  Lily  Bart.  If 
these  two  factors  seem  incompatible  to  the  student  of 
feminine  psychology,  it  must  be  remembered  that  Gerty 
had  always  been  a parasite  in  the  moral  order,  living  on 
the  crumbs  of  other  tables,  and  content  to  look  through 
the  window  at  the  banquet  spread  for  her  friends.  Now 
that  she  was  enjoying  a little  private  feast  of  her  own,  it 
would  have  seemed  incredibly  selfish  not  to  lay  a plate 
for  a friend;  and  there  was  no  one  with  whom  she  would 
rather  have  shared  her  enjoyment  than  Miss  Bart. 

As  to  the  nature  of  Selden’s  growing  kindness,  Gerty 
would  no  more  have  dared  to  define  it  than  she  would 
have  tried  to  learn  a butterfly’s  colours  by  knocking  the 
dust  from  its  wings.  To  seize  on  the  wonder  would  be  to 
brush  off  its  bloom,  and  perhaps  see  it  fade  and  stiffen 
in  her  hand : better  the  sense  of  beauty  palpitating  out 
of  reach,  while  she  held  her  breath  and  watched  where 
it  would  alight.  Yet  Selden’s  manner  at  the  Brys’  had 
[ 241  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


brought  the  flutter  of  wings  so  close  that  they  seemed 
to  be  beating  in  her  own  heart.  She  had  never  seen  him 
s®  alert,  so  responsive,  so  attentive  to  what  she  had  to 
say.  His  habitual  manner  had  an  absent-minded  kind- 
liness which  she  accepted,  and  was  grateful  for,  as  the 
liveliest  sentiment  her  presence  was  likely  to  inspire ; but 
she  was  quick  to  feel  in  him  a change  implying  that  for 
once  she  could  give  pleasure  as  well  as  receive  it. 

And  it  was  so  delightful  that  this  higher  degree  of 
sympathy  should  be  reached  through  their  interest  in 
Lily  Bart!  Geidy’s  affection  for  her  friend — a sentiment 
that  had  learned  to  keep  itself  alive  on  the  scantiest  diet 
— had  grown  to  active  adoration  since  Lily’s  restless 
curiosity  had  drawn  her  into  the  circle  of  iVIiss  Farish’s 
work.  Lily’s  taste  of  beneficence  had  wakened  in  her  a 
momentary  appetite  for  well-doing.  Her  visit  to  the 
Girls’  Club  had  first  brought  her  in  contact  with  the 
dramatic  contrasts  of  life.  She  had  always  accepted  with 
philosophic  calm  the  fact  that  such  existences  as  hers 
were  pedestailed  on  foundations  of  obscure  humanity. 
The  dreary  limbo  of  dinginess  lay  all  around  and  beneath 
.that  little  illuminated  circle  in  which  life  reached  its  finest 
efflorescence,  as  the  mud  and  sleet  of  a winter  night  en- 
close a hot-house  filled  with  tropical  flow-el’s.  All  this  was 
in  the  natural  order  of  things,  and  the  orchid  basking  in 
its  artificially  created  atmosphere  could  round  the  dehcate 
curves  of  its  petals  undisturbed  by  the  ice  on  the  panes 
r 242  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

But  it  is  one  thing  to  live  comfortably  with  the  ab- 
stract conception  of  poverty,  another  to  be  brought  in 
contact  with  its  human  embodiments.  Lily  had  never  con- 
ceived of  these  victims  of  fate  otherwise  than  in  the  mass. 
That  the  mass  was  composed  of  individual  lives,  innu- 
merable separate  centres  of  sensation,  with  her  own  eager 
reachings  for  pleasure,  her  own  fierce  revulsions  from  pain 
— that  some  of  these  bundles  of  feeling  were  clothed  in 
shapes  not  so  unlike  her  own,  with  eyes  meant  to  look  on 
gladness,  and  young  lips  shaped  for  love — this  discovery 
gave  Lily  one  of  those  sudden  shocks  of  pity  that  some- 
times decentralize  a life.  Lily’s  nature  was  incapable  of 
such  renewal : she  could  feel  other  demands  only  through 
her  own,  and  no  pain  was  long  vivid  which  did  not  press 
on  an  answering  nerve.  But  for  the  moment  she  was  drawn 
out  of  herself  by  the  interest  of  her  direct  relation  with 
a world  so  unlike  her  own.  She  had  supplemented  hei 
first  gift  by  personal  assistance  to  one  or  two  of  Miss 
Parish’s  most  appealing  subjects,  and  the  admiration  and 
interest  her  presence  excited  among  the  tired  woi*kei*s  at 
the  club  ministered  in  a new  form  to  her  insatiable  de- 
sire to  please. 

Gerty  Parish  was  not  a close  enough  reader  of  char- 
acter to  disentangle  the  mixed  threads  of  which  Lily’s 
philanthropy  was  woven.  She  supposed  her  beautiful 
friend  to  be  actuated  by  the  same  motive  as  herself — ■ 
that  sharpening  of  the  moral  vision  which  makes  all  hu- 
[ 243  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


■aian  suffering  so  near  and  insistent  that  the  other  aspects 
of  life  fade  into  remoteness.  Gerty  lived  by  such  simple 
formulas  that  she  did  not  hesitate  to  class  her  friend’s 
state  with  the  emotional  “change  of  heart”  to  which  hel 
dealings  with  the  poor  had  accustomed  her;  and  she  re- 
joiced in  the  thought  that  she  had  been  the  humble  in- 
strument of  this  renewal.  Now  she  had  an  answer  to  all 
criticisms  of  Lily’s  conduct:  as  she  had  said,  she  knew 
*‘the  real  Lily,”  and  the  discovery  that  Selden  shared  her 
knowledge  raised  her  placid  acceptance  of  life  to  a daz- 
zled sense  of  its  possibilities — a sense  farther  enlarged,  in 
the  course  of  the  afternoon,  by  the  receipt  of  a telegram 
from  Selden  asking  if  he  might  dine  mth  her  that  evening. 
While  Gerty  was  lost  in  the  happy  bustle  which  this 
announcement  produced  in  her  small  household,  Selden 
was  at  one  with  her  in  thinking  with  intensity  of  Lily 
Bart.  The  case  which  had  called  him  to  Albany  was  not 
complicated  enough  to  absorb  all  his  attention,  and  he 
had  the  professional  faculty  of  keeping  a part  of  his  mind 
free  when  its  services  were  not  needed.  This  part — which 
at  the  moment  seemed  dangerously  like  the  whole — was 
filled  to  the  brim  mth  the  sensations  of  the  prertous 
evening.  Selden  understood  the  symptoms:  he  recognized 
the  fact  that  he  was  paying  up,  as  there  had  always  been 
a chance  of  his  having  to  pay  up,  for  the  voluntary  exclu- 
sions of  his  past.  He  had  meant  to  keep  free  from  per- 
manent ties  not  from  any  poverty  of  feeling,  but  because 
[ ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


in  a different  way,  he  was,  as  much  as  Lily,  the  victim  of 
his  environment.  There  had  been  a germ  of  truth  in  his 
declaration  to  Gerty  Parish  that  he  had  never  wanted 
to  marry  a “nice”  girl:  the  adjective  connoting,  in  his 
cousin’s  vocabulary,  certain  utilitarian  qualities  which  are 
apt  to  preclude  the  luxury  of  charm.  Now  it  had  been 
Selden’s  fate  to  have  a charming  mother:  her  graceful 
portrait,  all  smiles  and  Cashmere,  still  emitted  a faded 
scent  of  the  undefinable  quality.  His  father  was  the  kind 
of  man  who  delights  in  a charming  woman : who  quotes 
her,  stimulates  her,  and  keeps  her  perennially  charming. 
Neither  one  of  the  couple  cared  for  money,  but  their  dis- 
dain of  it  took  the  form  of  always  spending  a little  more 
than  was  prudent.  If  their  house  was  shabby,  it  was  ex- 
quisitely kept;  if  there  were  good  books  on  the  shelves 
there  were  also  good  dishes  on  the  table.  Selden  senior 
had  an  eye  for  a picture,  his  wife  an  understanding  of 
old  lace;  and  both  were  so  conscious  of  restraint  and  dis- 
crimination  in  buying  that  they  never  quite  knew*  how 
it  was  that  the  bills  mounted  up. 

Though  many  of  Selden’s  friends  would  have  called  his 
parents  poor,  he  had  grown  up  in  an  atmosphere  where 
restricted  means  were  felt  only  as  a check  on  aimless 
profusion;  where  the  few  possessions  were  so  good  that 
their  rarity  gave  them  a merited  relief,  and  abstinence 
was  combined  with  elegance  in  a way  exemplified  by  Mrs. 
Selden’s  knack  of  wearing  her  old  velvet  as  if  it  were  new« 
[ 245  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


A man  has  the  advantage  of  being  delivered  early  from 
the  home  point  of  view,  and  before  Selden  left  college 
he  had  learned  that  there  are  as  many  different  ways  of 
going  without  money  as  of  spending  it.  Unfortunately,  he 
found  no  way  as  agreeable  as  that  practised  at  home; 
and  his  views  of  womankind  in  especial  were  tinged  by  the 
remembrance  of  the  one  woman  who  had  given  him  his 
sense  of  “values.”  It  was  from  her  that  he  inherited  his 
detachment  from  the  sumptuary  side  of  life;  the  stoic’s 
carelessness  of  material  things,  combined  with  the  Epicu- 
rean’s pleasure  in  them.  Life  shorn  of  either  feeling  ap- 
peared to  him  a diminished  thing;  and  nowhere  was  the 
blending  of  the  two  ingredients  so  essential  as  in  the 
character  of  a pretty  woman. 

It  had  always  seemed  to  Selden  that  experience  offered 
a great  deal  besides  the  sentimental  adventure,  yet  he 
could  vividly  conceive  of  a love  which  should  broaden  and 
deepen  till  it  became  the  central  fact  of  life.  MTiat  hecould 
not  accept,  in  his  ovm  case,  was  the  makeshift  alternative 
of  a relation  that  should  be  less  than  this:  that  should 
leave  some  portions  of  his  nature  unsatisfied,  while  it  put 
an  undue  strain  on  others.  He  would  not,  in  other  words, 
yield  to  the  growth  of  an  affection  which  might  appeal 
to  pity  yet  leave  the  understanding  untouched : sympathy 
should  no  more  delude  him  than  a trick  of  the  eyes,  the 
grace  of  helplessness  than  a curve  of  the  cheek. 

But  now — that  little  but  passed  like  a sponge  over  all 

[ 246  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

his  TOWS.  His  reasoned-out  resistances  seemed  for  the 
moment  so  much  less  important  than  the  question  as  to 
when  Lily  would  receive  his  note!  He  yielded  himself  to 
the  charm  of  trivial  preoccupations,  wondering  at  what 
hour  her  reply  would  be  sent,  with  what  words  it  would 
begin.  As  to  its  import  he  had  no  doubt — he  was  as 
sure  of  her  surrender  as  of  his  own.  And  so  he  had 
leisure  to  muse  on  all  its  exquisite  details,  as  a hard 
worker,  on  a holiday  morning,  might  lie  still  and  watch 
the  beam  of  light  travel  gradually  across  his  room.  But 
if  the  new  light  dazzled,  it  did  not  blind  him.  He  could 
still  discern  the  outline  of  facts,  though  his  own  relation 
to  them  had  changed.  He  was  no  less  conscious  than  be- 
fore of  what  was  said  of  Lily  Bart,  but  he  could  separate 
the  woman  he  knew  from  the  vulgar  estimate  of  her.  His 
mind  turned  to  Gerty  Faiish’s  words,  and  the  wisdom  of 
the  world  seemed  a groping  thing  beside  the  insight  of 
innocence.  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart,  for  the^  shall  see 
God — even  the  hidden  god  in  their  neighbour’s  breast! 
Selden  was  in  the  state  of  impassioned  self-absorption 
that  the  first  surrender  to  love  produces.  His  craving 
was  for  the  companionship  of  one  whose  point  of  view 
should  justify  his  own,  who  should  confirm,  by  deliber- 
ate observation,  the  truth  to  which  his  intuitions  had 
leaped.  He  could  not  wait  for  the  midday  recess,  but 
seized  a moment’s  leisure  in  court  to  scribble  his  tele- 
gram to  Gerty  Parish. 


[ m ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Reaching  town,  he  was  driven  direct  to  his  club,  where 
he  hoped  a note  from  Miss  Bart  might  await  him.  But 
his  box  contained  only  a line  of  rapturous  assent  from 
Gerty,  and  he  was  turning  away  disappointed  when  he 
was  hailed  by  a voice  from  the  smoking  room. 

“Hallo,  Lawrence!  Dining  here.?  Take  a bite  wdth  nie 
■ — I ’ve  ordered  a canvas-back.” 

He  discovered  Trenor,  in  his  day  clothes,  sitting,  with 
a tall  glass  at  his  elbow,  behind  the  folds  of  a sporting 
journal. 

Selden  thanked  him,  but  pleaded  an  engagement. 

“Hang  it,  I believe  every  man  in  town  has  an  engage* 
ment  tonight.  I shall  have  the  club  to  myself.  You  know 
how  I ’m  living  this  winter,  rattling  round  in  that  empty 
house.  My  wife  meant  to  come  to  towm  today,  but  she’s 
put  it  off  again,  and  how"  is  a fellow  to  dine  alone  in  a 
room  with  the  looking-glasses  covered,  and  nothing  but 
a bottle  of  Harvey  sauce  on  the  side-board.?  I say,  Law- 
rence, chuck  your  engagement  and  take  pity  on  me — it 
gives  me  the  blue  devils  to  dine  alone,  and  there’s  no- 
body but  that  canting  ass  Wetherall  in  the  club.” 

“Sony,  Gus — I can’t  do  it.” 

As  Selden  turned  away,  he  noticed  the  dark  flush  on 
Trenor’s  face,  the  unpleasant  moisture  of  his  intensely 
white  forehead,  the  way  his  jewelled  rings  were  wedged 
in  the  creases  of  his  fat  red  fingers.  Certainly  the  beast 
was  predominating — the  beast  at  the  bottom  of  the  glass. 
[ 248  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


And  he  had  heard  this  man’s  name  coupled  wfth  Lily’s  i 
Bah — the  thought  sickened  him ; all  the  way  back  to  his 
rooms  he  was  haunted  by  the  sight  of  Trenor’s  fat  creased 
hands 

On  his  table  lay  the  note:  Lily  had  sent  it  to  his 
rooms.  He  knew  what  was  in  it  before  he  broke  the  seal 
— a grey  seal  with  Beyond!  beneath  a flying  ship.  Ah, 
he  would  take  her  beyond — beyond  the  ugliness,  the 
pettiness,  the  attrition  and  corrosion  of  the  soul ^ 

Gerty’s  little  sitting-room  sparkled  with  welcome  when 
Selden  entered  it.  Its  modest  “effects,”  compact  of  enamel 
paint  and  ingenuity,  spoke  to  him  in  the  language  just 
then  sweetest  to  his  ear.  It  is  surprising  how  little  nar- 
row walls  and  a low  ceiling  matter,  when  the  roof  of  the 
soul  has  suddenly  been  raised.  Gerty  sparkled  too;  or  at 
least  shone  with  a tempered  radiance.  He  had  never  be- 
fore noticed  that  she  had  “points” — really,  some  good 
fellow  might  do  worse  . . . Over  the  little  dinner  (and 
here,  again,  the  effects  were  wonderful)  he  told  her  she 
ought  to  marry — he  was  in  a mood  to  pair  off  the  whole 
world.  She  had  made  the  caramel  custard  with  her  own 
hands  It  was  sinful  to  keep  such  gifts  to  herself.  He  re- 
flected with  a throb  of  pride  that  Lily  could  trim  her 
own  hats — she  had  told  him  so  the  day  of  their  walk  at 
BeUomont. 

He  did  not  speak  of  Lily  till  after  dinner.  During  the 

[ m ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


little  repast  he  kept  the  talk  on  his  hostess,  who,  flut- 
tered at  being  the  centre  of  observation,  shone  as  rosy 
as  the  candle-shades  she  had  manufactured  for  the  occa- 
sion. Selden  evinced  an  extraordinary  interest  in  her 
household  arrangements:  comphmented  her  on  the  in- 
genuity with  which  she  had  utilized  every  inch  of  her 
small  quarters,  asked  how  her  servant  managed  about 
afternoons  out,  learned  that  one  may  improvise  delicious 
dinners  in  a chafing-dish,  and  uttered  thoughtful  gen- 
eralizations on  the  burden  of  a large  establishment. 

When  they  were  in  the  sitting-room  again,  where 
they  fitted  as  snugly  as  bits  in  a puzzle,  and  she  had 
brewed  the  coffee,  and  poured  it  into  her  grandmother’s 
egg-shell  cups,  his  eye,  as  he  leaned  back,  basking  in  the 
warm  fragrance,  lighted  on  a recent  photograph  of  Miss 
Bart,  and  the  desired  transition  was  effected  without  an 
effort.  The  photograph  was  well  enough — but  to  catch 
her  as  she  had  looked  last  night ! Gerty  agreed  with  him 
— never  had  she  been  so  radiant.  But  could  photography 
capture  that  light.?  There  had  been  a new  look  in  her 
face — something  different;  yes,  Selden  agreed  there  had 
been  something  different.  The  coffee  was  so  exquisite 
that  he  asked  for  a second  cup;  such  a contrast  to  the 
watery  stuff  at  the  club!  Ah,  your  poor  bachelor  with 
his  impersonal  club  fare,  alternating  with  the  equally 
impersonal  cuisine  of  the  dinner-party!  A man  who  lived 
in  lodgings  missed  the  best  part  of  life — he  pictured 
[ 250  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  flavourless  solitude  of  Trenor’s  repast,  and  felt  a mo- 
ment’s compassion  for  the  man  . . , But  to  return  to 
Lily — and  again  and  again  he  returned,  questioning, 
conjecturing,  leading  Gerty  on,  draining  her  inmost 
thoughts  of  their  stored  tenderness  for  her  friend. 

At  first  she  poured  herself  out  unstintingly,  happy  in 
this  perfect  communion  of  their  sympathies.  His  under- 
standing of  Lily  helped  to  confirm  her  own  belief  in  her 
friend.  They  dwelt  together  on  the  fact  that  Lily  had 
had  no  chance.  Gerty  instanced  her  generous  impulses 
— her  restlessness  and  discontent.  The  fact  that  her  life 
had  never  satisfied  her  proved  that  she  was  made  for 
better  things.  She  might  have  married  more  than  once 
— the  conventional  rich  marriage  which  she  had  beefT' 
taught  to  consider  the  sole  end  of  existence — but  when 
the  opportunity  came  she  had  always  shrunk  from  it.' 
Percy  Gryce,  for  instance,  had  been  in  love  with  her — 
every  one  at  Bellomont  had  supposed  them  to  be  en- 
gaged, and  her  dismissal  of  him  was  thought  inexplicable. 
This  view  of  the  Gryce  incident  chimed  too  well  with 
Selden’s  mood  not  to  be  instantly  adopted  by  him,  with 
a flash  of  retrospective  contempt  for  what  had  once 
seemed  the  obvious  solution.  If  rejection  there  had  been 
— and  he  wondered  now  that  he  had  ever  doubted  it! 
— then  he  held  the  key  to  the  secret,  and  the  hillsides  of 
Bellomont  were  lit  up,  not  with  sunset,  but  with  dawn. 
It  was  he  who  had  wavered  and  disowned  the  face  of  op- 
[ 251  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


portunitj — and  the  joy  now  warming  his  breast  might 
have  been  a familiar  inmate  if  he  had  captured  it  in  its 
first  flight. 

It  was  at  this  point,  perhaps,  that  a joy  just  trying  its 
wings  in  Gerty’s  heart  dropped  to  earth  and  lay  stiU.  She 
sat  facing  Selden,  repeating  mechanically:  “No,  she  ha? 
never  been  understood ” and  all  the  while  she  her- 

self seemed  to  be  sitting  in  the  centre  of  a great  glare  of 
comprehension.  The  little  confidential  room,  where  a mo- 
ment ago  their  thoughts  had  touched  elbows  like  their 
chairs,  grew  to  unfi-iendly  vastness,  separating  her  from 
Selden  by  all  the  length  of  her  new  %dsion  of  the  future 
— and  that  future  stretched  out  interminably,  with  her 
lonely  figure  toiling  down  it,  a mere  speck  on  the  soli- 
tude. 

“She  is  herself  with  a few  people  only;  and  you  are 
one  of  them,”  she  heard  Selden  saying.  And  again:  “Be 
good  to  her,  Gerty,  won’t  you?”  and:  “She  has  it  in  her 
to  become  whatever  she  is  believed  to  be — you’ll  help 
her  by  believing  the  best  of  her?” 

The  words  beat  on  Gerty’s  brain  like  the  sound  of  a 
language  wliich  has  seemed  familiar  at  a distance,  but 
on  approaching  is  found  to  be  unintelligible.  He  had 
come  to  talk  to  her  of  Lily — that  was  all!  There  had 
been  a third  at  the  feast  she  had  spread  for  him,  and 
that  third  had  taken  her  own  place.  She  tried  to  foUow 
what  he  was  saying,  to  cling  to  her  own  part  in  the  talk 
r 252  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


■ — but  it  was  all  as  meaningless  as  the  boom  of  waves 
in  a drowning  head,  and  she  felt,  as  the  drowning  may 
feel,  that  to  sink  would  be  nothing  beside  the  pain  of 
struggling  to  keep  up. 

Selden  rose,  and  she  drew  a deep  breath,  feeling  that 
soon  she  could  yield  to  the  blessed  waves. 

“Mrs.  Fisher’s.?  You  say  she  was  dining  there.?  There’s 
music  afterward;  I believe  I had  a card  from  her.”  He 
glanced  at  the  foolish  pink-faced  clock  that  was  drum- 
ming  out  this  hideous  hour.  “A  quarter  past  ten.?  I might 
look  in  there  now;  the  Fisher  evenings  are  amusing.  I 
haven’t  kept  you  up  too  late,  Gerty.?  You  look  tired — 
I ’ve  rambled  on  and  bored  you.”  And  in  the  unwonted 
overflow  of  his  feelings,  he  left  a cousinly  kiss  upon  her 
cheek. 

At  Mrs.  Fisher’s,  through  the  cigar-smoke  of  the  studio, 
a dozen  voices  greeted  Selden.  A song  was  pending  as  he 
entered,  and  he  dropped  into  a seat  near  his  hostess,  his 
eyes  roaming  in  search  of  Miss  Bart.  But  she  was  not 
there,  and  the  discovery  gave  him  a pang  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  its  seriousness;  since  the  note  in  his  breast- 
pocket assured  him  that  at  four  the  next  day  they  would 
meet.  To  his  impatience  it  seemed  immeasurably  long 
to  wait,  and  half-ashamed  of  the  impulse,  he  leaned  to 
Mrs.  Fisher  to  ask,  as  the  music  ceased,  if  Miss  Bart  had 
not  dined  with  her. 


[ 253  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


'‘Lily?  She’s  just  gone.  She  had  to  run  off,  I forget 
where.  Wasn’t  she  wonderful  last  night?” 

“Who’s  that?  Lily?”  asked  Jack  Stepney,  from  the 
depths  of  a neighbouring  arm-chair.  “Really,  you  know, 
I ’m  no  pmde,  but  when  it  comes  to  a girl  standing  there 
as  if  she  was  up  at  auction — I thought  seriously  of  speak- 
ing to  cousin  Julia.” 

“You  didn’t  know  Jack  had  become  our  social  cen- 
sor?” Mrs.  Fisher  said  to  Selden  with  a laugh;  and  Step- 
ney spluttered,  amid  the  general  derision : “ But  she ’s  a 
cousin,  hang  it,  and  when  a man ’s  married — Town  Talk 
was  full  of  her  this  morning.” 

“Yes:  hvely  reading  that  was,”  said  Mr.  Ned  Van 
Alstyne,  stroking  his  moustache  to  hide  the  smile  behind 
it.  “Buy  the  dirty  sheet?  No,  of  course  not;  some  fellow 
showed  it  to  me — but  I’d  heard  the  stories  before. 
When  a girl’s  as  good-looking  as  that  she’d  better 
marry;  then  no  questions  are  asked.  In  our  imperfectly 
organized  society  there  is  no  provision  as  yet  for  the  young 
woman  who  claims  the  privileges  of  marriage  without 
assuming  its  obligations.” 

“Well,  I understand  Lily  is  about  to  assume  them  in 
the  shape  of  Mr.  Rosedale,”  Mrs.  Fisher  said  with  a 
laugh. 

“Rosedale — good  heavens!”  exclaimed  Van  Alstyne, 
dropping  his  eye-glass.  “Stepney,  that’s  your  fault  for 
foisting  the  brute  on  us.” 

[ 254  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Oh,  confound  it,  you  know,  we  don’t  marry  Rose- 
dale  in  our  family,”  Stepney  languidly  protested;  but 
his  wife,  who  sat  in  oppressive  bridal  finery  at  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  quelled  him  with  the  judicial  reflec- 
tion: “In  Lily’s  circumstances  it’s  a mistake  to  have  too 
high  a standard.” 

“I  hear  even  Rosedale  has  been  scared  by  the  talk 
lately,”  Mrs.  Fisher  rejoined;  “but  the  sight  of  her  last 
night  sent  him  off  his  head.  What  do  you  think  he  said 
to  me  after  her  tableau?  ‘My  God,  Mrs.  Fisher,  if  1 
could  get  Paul  Morpeth  to  paint  her  like  that,  the  pic- 
ture’d  appreciate  a hundred  per  cent  in  ten  years.’” 

“By  Jove, — but  isn’t  she  about  somewhere.?”  ex- 
claimed Van  Alstyne,  restoring  his  glass  with  an  uneasy 
glance. 

“No;  she  ran  off  while  you  were  all  mixing  the  punch 
down  stairs.  Where  was  she  going,  by  the  way .?  What ’s 
on  tonight.?  I hadn’t  heard  of  anything.” 

“Oh,  not  a party,  I think,”  said  an  inexperienced 
young  Farish  who  had  arrived  late.  “I  put  her  in  her 
cab  as  I was  coming  in,  and  she  gave  the  driver  the  Tre- 
nors’  address.” 

“TheTrenors’.?”  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jack  Stepney.  “Why, 
the  house  is  closed — Judy  telephoned  me  from  Bello- 
mont  this  evening.” 

“Did  she?  That’s  queer.  I’m  sure  I’m  not  mistaken. 
Well,  come  now,  Trenor’s  there,  anyhow — I — oh,  well 
[ 255  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


— the  fact  is,  I\e  no  head  for  numbers,”  he  broke  off, 
admonished  by  the  nudge  of  an  adjoining  foot,  and  the 
smile  that  circled  the  room. 

In  its  unpleasant  light  Selden  had  risen  and  was  shak- 
ing hands  with  his  hostess.  The  air  of  the  place  stifled 
him,  and  he  wondered  why  he  had  stayed  in  it  so  long. 

On  the  doorstep  he  stood  still,  remembering  a phrase 
of  Lily’s:  “It  seems  to  me  you  spend  a good  deal  of  time 
in  the  element  you  disapprove  of.” 

Well — what  had  brought  him  there  but  the  quest  of 
her.^  It  was  her  element,  not  his.  But  he  would  lift  her 
out  of  it,  take  her  beyond!  That  Beyond!  on  her  letter 
was  like  a cry  for  rescue.  He  knew  that  Perseus’s  task  is 
not  done  when  he  has  loosed  Andromeda’s  chains,  for  her 
limbs  are  numb  with  bondage,  and  she  cannot  rise  and 
walk,  but  clings  to  him  ^vith  dragging  arms  as  he  beats 
back  to  land  with  his  bm’den.  Well,  he  had  strength  for 
both — it  was  her  weakness  which  had  put  the  strength 
in  him.  It  was  not,  alas,  a clean  rush  of  waves  they  had 
to  win  through,  but  a clogging  morass  of  old  associations 
and  habits,  and  for  the  moment  its  vapours  were  in  his 
throat.  But  he  would  see  clearer,  breathe  freer  in  her  pre- 
sence; she  was  at  once  the  dead  weight  at  his  breast  and 
the  spar  which  should  float  them  to  safety.  He  smiled  at 
the  whirl  of  metaphor  %rith  which  he  was  trying  to  build 
up  a defence  against  the  influences  of  the  last  hour.  It 
was  pitiable  that  he,  who  knew  the  mixed  motives  on 
[ 256  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


which  social  judgments  depend,  should  still  feel  himseli 
so  swayed  by  them.  How  could  he  lift  Lily  to  a freer 
vision  of  life,  if  his  own  view  of  her  was  to  be  colom’ed 
by  any  mind  in  which  he  saw  her  reflected? 

The  moral  oppression  had  produced  a physical  craving 
for  air,  and  he  strode  on,  opening  his  lungs  to  the  re- 
verberating coldness  of  the  night.  At  the  corner  of  Fifth 
Avenue  Van  Alstyne  hailed  him  with  an  offer  of  company. 

“Walking?  A good  thing  to  blow  the  smoke  out  of 
one’s  head.  Now  that  women  have  taken  to  tobacco  we 
live  in  a bath  of  nicotine.  It  would  be  a curious  thing  to 
study  the  effect  of  cigarettes  on  the  relation  of  the  sexes. 
Smoke  is  almost  as  great  a solvent  as  divorce:  both  tend 
to  obscure  the  moral  issue.” 

Nothing  could  have  been  less  consonant  with  Selden’s 
mood  than  Van  Alstyne’s  after-dinner  aphorisms,  but  as 
long  as  the  latter  confined  himself  to  generalities  his  lis- 
tener’s nerves  were  in  control.  Happily  Van  Alstyne  prided 
himself  on  his  summing  up  of  social  aspects,  and  with 
Selden  for  audience  was  eager  to  show  the  sureness  of  his 
touch.  Mrs.  Fisher  lived  in  an  East  side  street  near  the 
Park,  and  as  the  two  men  walked  down  Fifth  Avenue  the 
new  architectural  developments  of  that  versatile  thorough- 
fare invited  Van  Alstyne’s  comment. 

“That  Greiner  house,  now — a typical  rang  in  the  so- 
cial ladder!  The  man  who  built  it  came  from  a milieu, 
where  all  the  dishes  are  put  on  the  table  at  once.  His 
[ 257  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


facade  is  a complete  architectural  meal;  if  he  had  omit 
ted  a style  his  friends  might  have  thought  the  money 
had  given  out.  Not  a bad  purchase  for  Rosedale,  though: 
attracts  attention,  and  awes  the  Western  sight-seer.  By 
and  bye  he  ’ll  get  out  of  that  phase,  and  want  something 
that  the  crowd  will  pass  and  the  few  pause  before.  Es- 
pecially if  he  marries  my  clever  cousin ” 

Selden  dashed  in  with  the  query.  “And  the  Welling- 
ton Brys’,?  Rather  clever  of  its  kind,  don’t  you  think.?” 

They  were  just  beneath  the  Avide  white  fa^de,  with  its 
rich  restraint  of  line,  which  suggested  the  clever  corset- 
ing of  a redundant  figure. 

“That’s  the  next  stage:  the  desire  to  imply  that  one 
has  been  to  Europe,  and  has  a standard.  I ’m  sure  Mrs. 
Bry  thinks  her  house  a copy  of  the  Trianon;  in  America 
every  marble  house  with  gilt  furniture  is  thought  to  be 
a copy  of  the  Trianon.  MTiat  a clever  chap  that  archi- 
tect is,  though — how  he  takes  his  client’s  measure!  He 
has  put  the  whole  of  Mrs.  Bry  in  his  use  of  the  composite 
order.  Now  for  the  Trenors,  you  remember,  he  chose  the 
Corinthian : exuberant,  but  based  on  the  best  precedent. 
The  Trenor  house  is  one  of  his  best  things — does  n’t 
look  like  a banqueting-hall  turned  inside  out.  I hear 
Mrs.  Trenor  wants  to  build  out  a new  baU-room,  and 
that  divergence  from  Gus  on  that  point  keeps  her  at 
Bellomont.  The  dimensions  of  the  Brys’  baU-room  must 
rankle : you  may  be  sure  she  knows  ’em  as  well  as  if  she ’d 
[ 258  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


been  there  last  night  with  a yard-measure.  Who  said  she 
was  in  town,  by  the  way  ? That  Farish  boy  ? She  is  n’t,  I 
know;  Mrs.  Stepney  was  right;  the  house  is  dark,  you 
see:  I suppose  Gus  lives  in  the  back.” 

He  had  halted  opposite  the  Trenors’  comer,  and  Sel  ■ 
den  perforce  stayed  his  steps  also.  The  house  loomed  ob- 
scure and  uninhabited;  only  an  oblong  gleam  above  the 
door  spoke  of  provisional  occupancy. 

“They ’ve  bought  the  house  at  the  back ; it  gives  them 
a hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  the  side  street.  There ’s  where 
the  ball-room ’s  to  be,  with  a gallery  connecting  it : bil- 
liard-room and  so  on  above.  I suggested  changing  the 
entrance,  and  canying  the  drawing-room  across  the 
whole  Fifth  Avenue  front:  you  see  the  front  door  cor- 
responds with  the  windows ” 

The  walking-stick  which  Van  Alstyne  swung  in  de- 
monstration dropped  to  a startled  “Hallo!”  as  the  door 
opened  and  two  figures  were  seen  silhouetted  against  the 
hall-light.  At  the  same  moment  a hansom  halted  at  the 
curb-stone,  and  one  of  the  figures  floated  down  to  it  in  a 
haze  of  evening  draperies;  while  the  other,  black  and 
bulky,  remained  persistently  projected  against  the  light. 

For  an  immeasurable  second  the  two  spectators  of  the 
incident  were  silent;  then  the  house-door  closed,  the  han- 
som rolled  off,  and  the  whole  scene  slipped  by  as  if  with 
the  turn  of  a stereopticon. 

Van  Alstyne  di’opped  his  eye-glass  with  a low  whistle. 

[ 259  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


‘‘A — hem — nothing  of  this,  eh,  Selden?  As  one  ol 
the  family,  I know  I may  count  on  you — appearances 
are  deceptive — and  Fifth  Avenue  is  so  imperfectly 
lighted ” 

“Goodnight,”  said  Selden,  turning  sharply  dowm  the 
side  street  without  seeing  the  other’s  extended  hand. 

Alone  with  her  cousin’s  kiss,  Gerty  stared  upon  her 
thoughts.  He  had  kissed  her  before — but  not  with  an- 
other woman  on  his  lips.  If  he  had  spared  her  that  she 
could  have  di’owned  quietly,  welcoming  the  dark  flood  as 
it  submerged  her.  But  now  the  flood  was  shot  through 
with  glory,  and  it  was  harder  to  drovni  at  sunrise  than 
in  darkness.  Gerty  hid  her  face  fi’om  the  light,  but  it 
pierced  to  the  crannies  of  her  soul.  She  had  been  so  con- 
tented, life  had  seemed  so  simple  and  sufficient — why 
had  he  come  to  trouble  her  with  new  hopes?  And  Lily 
— Lily,  her  best  friend!  Woman-hke,  she  accused  the 
woman.  Perhaps,  had  it  not  been  for  Lily,  her  fond  im- 
agining might  have  become  truth.  Selden  had  always 
liked  her — had  understood  and  sympathized  with  the 
modest  independence  of  her  life.  He,  who  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  weighing  all  things  in  the  nice  balance  of  fastidi- 
ous perceptions,  had  been  uncritical  and  simple  in  his 
view  of  her:  his  cleverness  had  never  overawed  her  be- 
cause she  had  felt  at  home  in  his  heart.  And  now  she  was 
thrust  out,  and  the  door  barred  against  her  by  Lily’s 
\ 260  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


hand!  Lily,  for  whose  admission  there  she  herself  had 
pleaded!  The  situation  was  lighted  up  by  a dreary  flash 
of  irony.  She  knew  Selden — she  saw  how  the  force  of 
her  faith  in  Lily  must  have  helped  to  dispel  his  hesita- 
tions. She  remembered,  too,  how  Lily  had  talked  of  him 
— she  saw  herself  bringing  the  tw'o  together,  making 
them  known  to  each  other.  On  Selden’s  part,  no  doubt, 
the  wound  inflicted  was  inconscient;  he  had  never  guessed 
her  foolish  secret;  but  Lily — Lily  must  have  known! 
When,  in  such  matters,  are  a woman’s  perceptions  at 
fault  And  if  she  knew,  then  she  had  deliberately  de- 
spoiled her  friend,  and  in  mere  wantonness  of  power, 
since,  even  to  Gerty’s  suddenly  flaming  jealousy,  it  seemed 
incredible  that  Lily  should  wish  to  be  Selden’s  wife.  Lily 
might  be  incapable  of  marrying  for  money,  but  she  was 
equally  incapable  of  living  without  it,  and  Selden’s  eager 
investigations  into  the  small  economies  of  house-keeping 
made  him  appear  to  Gerty  as  tragically  duped  as  herself. 

She  remained  long  in  her  sitting-room,  where  the  em- 
bers were  crumbling  to  cold  grey,  and  the  lamp  paled 
under  its  gay  shade.  Just  beneath  it  stood  the  photo- 
graph of  Lily  Bart,  looking  out  imperially  on  the  cheap 
gim-cracks,  the  cramped  furniture  of  the  little  room. 
Could  Selden  picture  her  in  such  an  interior.?  Gerty  felt 
the  poverty,  the  insignificance  of  her  surroundings;  she 
beheld  her  life  as  it  must  appear  to  Lily.  And  the  cruelty 
of  Lily’s  judgments  smote  upon  her  memory.  She  saw 

r 261  J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

that  she  had  dressed  her  idol  with  attributes  of  her  own 
making.  When  had  Lily  ever  really  felt,  or  pitied,  or 
understood.?  All  she  wanted  was  the  taste  of  new  experi- 
ences : she  seemed  like  some  cruel  creature  experimenting 
in  a laboratory. 

The  pink-faced  clock  drummed  out  another  hour,  and 
Gerty  rose  with  a start.  She  had  an  appointment  early 
the  next  morning  with  a district  visitor  on  the  East  side. 
She  put  out  her  lamp,  covered  the  fire,  and  went  into  her 
bedroom  to  undi-ess.  In  the  little  glass  above  her  dress- 
ing-table she  saw  her  face  reflected  against  the  shadows 
of  the  room,  and  tears  blotted  the  reflection.  MTiat  right 
had  she  to  dream  the  dreams  of  loveliness.?  A dull  face 
invited  a dull  fate.  She  cried  quietly  as  she  undressed, 
laying  aside  her  clothes  with  her  habitual  precision,  set- 
ting everything  in  order  for  the  next  day,  when  the  old 
life  must  be  taken  up  as  though  there  had  been  no  break 
in  its  routine.  Her  servant  did  not  come  till  eight  o’clock, 
and  she  prepared  her  owti  tea-tray  and  placed  it  beside 
the  bed.  Then  she  locked  the  door  of  the  flat,  extinguished 
her  light  and  lay  down.  But  on  her  bed  sleep  would  not 
come,  and  she  lay  face  to  face  with  the  fact  that  she 
hated  Lily  Bart.  It  closed  wdth  her  in  the  darkness  like 
some  formless  evil  to  be  bbndly  grappled  with.  Reason, 
judgment,  renunciation,  aU  the  sane  daybght  forces,  were 
beaten  back  in  the  sharp  struggle  for  self-preservation. 
She  wanted  happiness — wanted  it  as  fiercely  and  unscru- 
[ 262  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


pulously  as  Lily  did,  but  without  Lily’s  power  of  obtain- 
ing it.  And  in  her  conscious  impotence  she  lay  shivering, 
and  hated  her  friend 

A ring  at  the  door-bell  caught  her  to  her  feet.  She 
strack  a light  and  stood  startled,  listening.  For  a mo- 
ment her  heart  beat  incoherently,  then  she  felt  the  so- 
bering touch  of  fact,  and  remembered  that  such  calls 
were  not  unknown  in  her  charitable  work.  She  flung  on 
her  dressing-gown  to  answer  the  summons,  and  unlock- 
ing her  door,  confronted  the  shining  vision  of  Lily  Bart. 

Gerty’s  first  movement  was  one  of  revulsion.  She 
shrank  back  as  though  Lily’s  presence  flashed  too  sudden 
a light  upon  her  misery.  Then  she  heard  her  name  in 
a cry,  had  a glimpse  of  her  friend’s  face,  and  felt  her- 
self caught  and  clung  to. 

“Lily — what  is  it?”  she  exclaimed. 

Miss  Bart  released  her,  and  stood  breathing  brokenly, 
like  one  who  has  gained  shelter  after  a long  flight. 

“I  was  so  cold — I could  n’t  go  home.  Have  you  a fire.'*” 

Gerty’s  compassionate  instincts,  responding  to  the 
swift  call  of  habit,  swept  aside  all  her  reluctances.  Lily 
was  simply  some  one  who  needed  help — for  what  reason, 
there  was  no  time  to  pause  and  conjecture;  disciplined 
sympathy  checked  the  wonder  on  Gerty’s  lips,  and  made 
her  draw  her  friend  silently  into  the  sitting-room  and 
seat  her  by  the  darkened  hearth. 

[ 263  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“There  is  kindling  wood  here;  the  fire  will  bum  in  a 
minute.” 

She  knelt  down,  and  the  flame  leapt  under  her  rapid 
hands.  It  flashed  strangely  through  the  tears  which  stdl 
blurred  her  eyes,  and  smote  on  the  white  ruin  of  Lily’s 
face.  The  girls  looked  at  each  other  in  silence ; then  Lily 
repeated:  “I  couldn’t  go  home.” 

“No — no — you  came  here,  dear!  You’re  cold  and 
tired — sit  quiet,  and  I’ll  make  you  some  tea.” 

Gerty  had  unconsciously  adopted  the  soothing  note  of 
her  trade : all  personal  feeling  was  merged  in  the  sense  of 
ministry,  and  experience  had  taught  her  that  the  bleed- 
ing must  be  stayed  before  the  wound  is  probed. 

Lily  sat  quiet,  leaning  to  the  fire:  the  clatter  of  cups 
behind  her  soothed  her  as  familiar  noises  hush  a child 
whom  silence  has  kept  wakeful.  But  when  Gerty  stood 
at  her  side  with  the  tea  she  pushed  it  away,  and  turned 
an  estranged  eye  on  the  familiar  room. 

“I  came  here  because  I couldn’t  bear  to  be  alone,” 
she  said. 

Gerty  set  down  the  cup  and  knelt  beside  her. 

“Lily!  Something  has  happened — can’t  you  tell  me.^” 

“I  could  n’t  bear  to  lie  awake  in  my  room  till  morning. 
I hate  my  room  at  Aunt  Julia’s — so  I came  here ” 

She  stirred  suddenly,  broke  from  her  apathy,  and  clung 
to  Gerty  in  a fi-esh  burst  of  fear. 

“Oh,  Gerty,  the  furies  . . . you  know  the  noise  of 

[ 264  ] 


Oh,  Gerty,  the  furies  . . . you  know  the  noise  of  their  wings?” 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


their  wings — alone,  at  night,  in  the  dark?  But  you  don’t 
know — there  is  nothing  to  make  the  dark  dreadful  to 
you ” 

The  words,  flashing  back  on  Gerty’s  last  hours,  struck 
from  her  a faint  derisive  murmur;  but  Lily,  in  the  blaze 
of  her  own  misery,  was  blinded  to  everything  outside  it, 

“You’ll  let  me  stay?  I shan’t  mind  when  daylight 
comes — Is  it  late?  Is  the  night  nearly  over?  It  must 
be  awful  to  be  sleepless — everything  stands  by  the  bed 
and  stares ” 

Jliss  Farish  caught  her  straying  hands.  “Lily,  look  at 
me!  Something  has  happened — an  accident?  You  have 
been  frightened — what  has  frightened  you?  Tell  me  if 
you  can — a word  or  two — so  that  I can  help  you.” 

Lily  shook  her  head. 

“I  am  not  frightened,  that’s  not  the  word.  Can  you 
imagine  looking  into  your  glass  some  morning  and  see- 
ing a disfigurement — some  hideous  change  that  has 
come  to  you  while  you  slept?  Well,  I seem  to  myself 
like  that — I can’t  bear  to  see  myself  in  my  own  thoughts 
— I hate  ugliness,  you  know — I’ve  always  turned  from 
it — but  I can’t  explain  to  you — you  wouldn’t  under- 
stand.” 

She  lifted  her  head  and  her  eyes  fell  on  the  clock. 

“How  long  the  night  is!  And  I know  I shan’t  sleep 
tomorrow.  Some  one  told  me  my  father  used  to  lie  sleep- 
less and  think  of  horrors.  And  he  was  not  wicked,  only 
[ 266  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


unfortunate — and  I see  now  how  he  must  have  suflFered, 
lying  alone  with  his  thoughts!  But  I am  bad — a bad  girl 
— all  my  thoughts  are  bad — I have  always  had  bad 
people  about  me.  Is  that  any  excuse  I thought  I could 
manage  my  own  life — I was  proud — proud!  but  now 
I’m  on  their  level ” 

Sobs  shook  her,  and  she  bowed  to  them  like  a tree  in 
a dry  storm. 

Gerty  knelt  beside  her,  waiting,  with  the  patience 
born  of  experience,  till  this  gust  of  misery  should  loosen 
fresh  speech.  She  had  first  imagined  some  physical  shock, 
some  peril  of  the  crowded  streets,  since  Lily  was  presum- 
ably on  her  way  home  from  Carry  Fishers ; but  she  now 
saw  that  other  nerve-centres  were  smitten,  and  her  mind 
trembled  back  from  conjecture. 

Lily’s  sobs  ceased,  and  she  lifted  her  head. 

“There  are  bad  girls  in  your  slums.  Tell  me — do  they 
ever  pick  themselves  up  ? Ever  forget,  and  feel  as  they  did 
before  .P” 

“Lily!  you  mustn’t  speak  so — you’re  dreaming.” 

“Don’t  they  always  go  from  bad  to  worse.?  There ’s  no 
turning  back — yoirr  old  self  rejects  you,  and  shuts  you 
out.” 

She  rose,  stretching  her  arms  as  if  in  utter  physical 
weariness.  “Go  to  bed,  dear!  You  work  hard  and  get 
up  early.  I’ll  watch  here  by  the  fire,  and  you’U  leave 
the  light,  and  your  door  open.  All  I want  is  to  feel 
[ 266  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


that  you  are  near  me.”  She  laid  both  hands  on  Gerty’s 
shoulders,  with  a smile  that  was  like  sunrise  on  a sea 
strewn  with  wreckage. 

“I  can’t  leave  you,  Lily.  Come  and  lie  on  my  bed. 
Your  hands  are  frozen — you  must  undress  and  be  made 
warm.”  Gerty  paused  with  sudden  compunction.  “But 
Mrs.  Peniston — it’s  past  midnight!  What  will  she 
think.?” 

“She  goes  to  bed.  I have  a latch-key.  It  does  n’t  mat- 
ter— I can’t  go  back  there.” 

“There’s  no  need  to;  you  shall  stay  here.  But  you 
must  tell  me  where  you  have  been.  Listen,  Lily — it 
will  help  you  to  speak!”  She  regained  Miss  Bart’s  hands, 
and  pressed  them  against  her.  “Try  to  tell  me — it  will 
clear  your  poor  head.  Listen — you  were  dining  at  Carry 
Fisher’s.”  Gerty  paused  and  added  with  a flash  of  hero- 
ism: “Lawrence  Selden  went  from  here  to  find  you.” 

At  the  word,  Lily’s  face  melted  from  locked  anguish 
to  the  open  misery  of  a child.  Her  lips  trembled  and  her 
gaze  widened  with  tears. 

“He  went  to  find  me.?  And  I missed  him!  Oh,  Gerty, 
he  tried  to  help  me.  He  told  me — he  warned  me  long 
ago — he  foresaw  that  I should  grow  hateful  to  myself!” 

The  name,  as  Gerty  saw  with  a clutch  at  the  heart, 
had  loosened  the  springs  of  self-pity  in  her  friend’s  dry 
breast,  and  tear  by  tear  Lily  poured  out  the  measure  of 
her  anguish.  She  had  dropped  sideways  in  Gerty’s  big 
[ 267  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


arm-chair,  her  head  buried  where  lately  Selden’s  had 
leaned,  in  a beauty  of  abandonment  that  drove  home  to 
Gerty’s  aching  senses  the  inevitableness  of  her  own  defeat. 
Ah,  it  needed  no  deliberate  purpose  on  Lily’s  part  to  rob 
her  of  her  dream ! To  look  on  that  prone  loveliness  was  to 
see  in  it  a natural  force,  to  recognize  that  love  and  power 
belong  to  such  as  Lily,  as  renunciation  and  service  are 
the  lot  of  those  they  despoil.  But  if  Selden’s  infatuation 
seemed  a fatal  necessity,  the  effect  that  his  name  pro- 
duced shook  Gerty’s  steadfastness  with  a last  pang.  Men 
pass  through  such  superhuman  loves  and  outlive  them; 
they  are  the  probation  subduing  the  heart  to  human 
joys.  How  gladly  Gerty  would  have  welcomed  the  min- 
istry of  healing : how  willingly  have  soothed  the  sufferer 
back  to  tolerance  of  life!  But  Lily’s  self-betrayal  took 
this  last  hope  fi’om  her.  The  mortal  maid  on  the  shore  is 
helpless  against  the  siren  who  loves  her  prey:  such  victims 
are  floated  back  dead  from  their  adventure. 

Lily  sprang  up  and  caught  her  with  strong  hands. 
“Gerty,  you  know  him — you  understand  him — tell  me; 
if  I went  to  him,  if  I told  him  ever\"thing — if  I said:  ‘I 
am  bad  through  and  through — I want  admiration,  I 
want  excitement,  I want  money — ’ yes,  money!  That ’s 
my  shame,  Gerty — and  it’s  known,  it’s  said  of  me — it’s 
what  men  think  of  me — If  I said  it  all  to  him — told 
him  the  wLole  story — said  plainly:  ‘I ’ve  sunk  lower  than 
the  low^est,  for  I ’ve  taken  what  they  take,  and  not  paid 

r 268  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


as  they  pay’ — oh,  Gerty,  you  know  him,  you  can  speak 
for  him : if  I told  him  everything  would  he  loathe  me? 
Or  would  he  pity  me,  and  understand  me,  and  save  me 
from  loathing  myself?” 

Gerty  stood  cold  and  passive.  She  knew  the  hour  of 
her  probation  had  come,  and  her  poor  heart  beat  wildly 
against  its  destiny.  As  a dark  river  sweeps  by  under  a 
lightning  flash,  she  saw  her  chance  of  happiness  surge  past 
under  a flash  of  temptation.  What  prevented  her  from 
saying:  “He  is  like  other  men”?  She  was  not  so  sure  of 
him,  after  all!  But  to  do  so  would  have  been  like  blas- 
pheming her  love.  She  could  not  put  him  before  herself 
in  any  light  but  the  noblest:  she  must  trust  him  to  the 
height  of  her  own  passion. 

“Yes:  I know  him;  he  will  help  you,”  she  said;  and  in 
a moment  Lily’s  passion  was  weeping  itself  out  against 
her  breast. 

There  was  but  one  bed  in  the  little  flat,  and  the  two 
girls  lay  down  on  it  side  by  side  when  Gerty  had  un- 
laced Lily’s  dress  and  persuaded  her  to  put  her  lips  to 
the  warm  tea.  The  light  extinguished,  they  lay  still  in  the 
darkness,  Gerty  shrinking  to  the  outer  edge  of  the  nar- 
row couch  to  avoid  contact  with  her  bed-fellow.  Know- 
ing that  Lily  disliked  to  be  caressed,  she  had  long  ago 
learned  to  check  her  demonstrative  impulses  toward  her 
fiiend.  But  tonight  every  fibre  in  her  body  shrank  from 
Lily’s  nearness:  it  was  torture  to  listen  to  her  breathing, 

[ S69  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  feel  the  sheet  stir  with  it.  As  Lily  turned,  and  set- 
tled to  completer  rest,  a strand  of  her  hair  swept  Gerty’s 
cheek  with  its  fragrance.  Everything  about  her  was  warm 
and  soft  and  scented : even  the  stains  of  her  grief  became 
her  as  rain-drops  do  the  beaten  rose.  But  as  Gerty  lay 
with  arms  drawn  down  her  side,  in  the  motionless  nar- 
rowTiess  of  an  effigy,  she  felt  a stir  of  sobs  from  the 
breathing  warmth  beside  her,  and  Lily  flung  out  her 
hand,  gi’oped  for  her  friend’s,  and  held  it  fast. 

“ Hold  me,  Gerty,  hold  me,  or  I shall  think  of  things,” 
she  moaned;  and  Gerty  silently  slipped  an  arm  under 
her,  pillowing  her  head  in  its  hollow  as  a mother  makes 
a nest  for  a tossing  child.  In  the  warm  hollow  Lily  lay 
stiU  and  her  breathing  grew  low  and  regular.  Her  hand 
stiU  clung  to  Gerty’s  as  if  to  ward  off  evil  dreams,  but 
the  hold  of  her  fingers  relaxed,  her  head  sank  deeper  into 
its  shelter,  and  Gerty  felt  that  she  slept. 


XV 

WHEN  Lily  woke  she  had  the  bed  to  herself,  and 
the  winter  light  was  in  the  room. 

She  sat  up,  bewildered  by  the  strangeness  of  her  sur- 
roundings ; then  memory  returned,  and  she  looked  about 
her  with  a shiver.  In  the  cold  slant  of  light  reflected  from 
the  back  wall  of  a neighbouring  building,  she  saw  her 
evening  dress  and  opera  cloak  l}dng  in  a tawdry  heap  on 

f 2-0  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


a xheiir.  Finery  laid  off  is  as  unappetizing  as^i^emains 
of  a feast,  and  it  occurred  to  Lily  that,  at  hoihe,  her 
maid’s  vigilance  had  always  spared  her  the  sight  of  such 
incongruities.  Her  hp^y  ached  with  fatigue,  and  with  the 
constriction  of  her  ^titude  ih  Gerty’s  bed.  All  through 
he^  troubled  sleep  she  had  |>een  yonscious  of  having  no 
space  to  toss  in,  and  the  l^hg  effort  to  remain  motion- 


less made  her  feel  as  if  she  had  spent  her  night  in  a 
train. 

This  sense  of  physical  discomfort  was  the  first  to  as- 
sert itself;  then  she  perceived,  beneath  it,  a correspond- 
ing mental  prostration,  a languor  of  horror  more  insuf- 
ferable than  the  first  rush  of  her  disgust.  The  thought 
of  having  to  wake  every  moraing  with  this  weight  on 
her  breast  roused  her  tired  mind  to  fresh  effort.  She  must 
find  some  way  out  of  the  slough  into  which  she  had 
stumbled : it  was  not  so  much  compunction  ^s  the  dread 
of  her  morning  thoughts  that  pressed  on  her  the  need 
of  action.  But  she  was  unutterably  tired ; it  was  weari- 
ness to  think  connectedly.  She  lay  back,  looking  about 
the  poor  slit  of  a room  with  a renewal  of  physical  dis- 
taste. The  outer  air,  penned  between  high  buildings, 
brought  no  freshness  through  the  window;  steam-heat 
was  beginning  to  sing  in  a coil  of  dingy  pipes,  and  a 
smell  of  cooking  penetrated  the  crack  of  the  door. 

The  door  opened,  and  Gerty,  dressed  and  hatted,  en- 
tered with  a cup  of  tea.  Her  face  looked  sallow  and 

[ «i  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


swollen  in  the  dreary  light,  and  her  dull  hair  shaded  im- 
perceptibly into  the  tones  of  her  skin. 

She  glanced  shyly  at  Lily,  asking  in  an  embarrassed 
tone  how  she  felt ; Lily  answered  with  the  same  constraint, 
and  raised  herself  up  to  drink  the  tea. 

“I  must  have  been  over-tired  last  night;  I think  I had 
a nervous  attack  in  the  carriage,”  she  said,  as  the  drink 
brought  clearness  to  her  sluggish  thoughts. 

“You  were  not  well;  I am  so  glad  you  came  here,” 
Gerty  returned. 

“But  how  am  I to  get  home.?  And  Aunt  Julia ?” 

“She  knows;  I telephoned  early,  and  your  maid  has 
brought  your  things.  But  won’t  you  eat  something?  I 
scrambled  the  eggs  myself.” 

Lily  could  not  eat;  but  the  tea  strengthened  her  to 
rise  and  dress  under  her  maid’s  searching  gaze.  It  was  a 
relief  to  her  that  Gerty  was  obliged  to  hasten  away:  the 
two  kissed  silently,  but  without  a trace  of  the  prerious 
night’s  emotion. 

Lil^  found  Mrs.  Peniston  in  a state  of  agitation.  She 
had  sent  for  Grace  Stepney  and  was  taking  digitalis. 
Lily  breasted  the  storm  of  enquiries  as  best  she  could, 
explaining  that  she  had  had  an  attack  of  faintness  on 
her  way  back  from  CaiTy  Fisher’s;  that,  fearing  she  would 
not  have  strength  to  reach  home,  she  had  gone  to  Miss 
Farish’s  instead;  but  that  a quiet  night  had  restored  her, 
and  that  she  had  no  need  of  a doctor. 

r 272  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


This  was  a relief  to  Mrs.  Peniston,  who  could  give 
herself  up  to  her  own  symptoms,  and  Lily  was  advised 
to  go  and  lie  down,  her  aunt’s  panacea  for  all  physical 
and  moral  disorders.  In  the  solitude  of  her  own  room  she 
was  brought  back  to  a sharp  contemplation  of  facts.  Her 
daylight  view  of  them  necessarily  differed  from  the  cloudy 
vision  of  the  night.  The  winged  furies  were  now  prowling 
gossips  who  dropped  in  on  each  other  for  tea.  But  her 
fears  seemed  the  uglier,  thus  shorn  of  their  vagueness; 
and  besides,  she  had  to  act,  not  rave.  For  the  first  time 
she  forced  herself  to  reckon  up  the  exact  amount  of  her 
debt  to  Trenor;  and  the  result  of  this  hateful  computa- 
tion was  the  discovery  that  she  had,  in  all,  received  nine 
thousand  dollars  from  him.  The  flimsy  pretext  on  which 
it  had  been  given  and  received  shrivelled  up  in  the  blaze 
of  her  shame : she  knew  that  not  a penny  of  it  was  her 
own,  and  that  to  restore  her  self-respect  she  must  at  once 
repay  the  whole  amount.  The  inability  thus  to  solace  her 
outraged  feelings  gave  her  a paralyzing  sense  of  insignifi- 
cance. She  was  realizing  for  the  first  time  that  a woman’s 
dignity  may  cost  more  to  keep  up  than  her  carriage;  and 
that  the  maintenance  of  a moral  attribute  should  be  de- 
pendent on  dollars  and  cents,  made  the  world  appear  a 
more  sordid  place  than  she  had  conceived  it. 

After  luncheon,  when  Grace  Stepney’s  prying  eyes  had 
been  removed,  Lily  asked  for  a word  with  her  aunt.  The 
two  ladies  went  upstairs  to  the  sitting-room,  where  Mra, 
[ 278  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

Peniston  seated  herself  in  her  black  satin  arm-chair  tufted 
with  yellow  buttons,  beside  a bead -work  table  bearing  a 
bronze  box  with  a miniature  of  Beatrice  Cenci  in  the  lid. 
Lily  felt  for  these  objects  the  same  distaste  which  the 
prisoner  may  entertain  for  the  fittings  of  the  court-room. 
It  was  here  that  her  aunt  received  her  rare  confidences, 
and  the  pink-eyed  smirk  of  the  turbaned  Beatrice  was 
associated  in  her  mind  with  the  gradual  fading  of  the 
smile  from  Mrs.  Peniston’s  lips.  That  lady’s  dread  of  a 
scene  gave  her  an  inexorableness  vvhich  the  greatest 
strength  of  character  could  not  have  produced,  since 
it  was  independent  of  aU  considerations  of  right  or 
wrong;  and  knowing  this,  Lily  seldom  ventured  to  as- 
sail it.  She  had  never  felt  less  like  making  the  attempt 
than  on  the  present  occasion;  but  she  had  sought  in 
vain  for  any  other  means  of  escape  from  an  intolerable 
situation. 

Mrs.  Peniston  examined  her  critically.  “You’re  a bad 
colour,  Lily:  this  incessant  rushing  about  is  beginning  to 
tell  on  you,”  she  said. 

Miss  Bart  saw  an  opening.  “I  don’t  think  it’s  that, 
Aunt  Julia;  I’ve  had  worries,”  she  replied. 

“Ah,”  said  Mrs.  Peniston,  shutting  her  lips  with  the 
snap  of  a purse  closing  against  a beggar. 

“I ’m  sorry  to  bother  you  with  them,”  Lily  continued, 
“but  I really  believe  my  faintness  last  night  was  brought 

on  partly  by  anxious  thoughts ” 

[ 274  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“I  should  have  said  Carry  Fisher’s  cook  was  enough 
to  account  for  it.  She  has  a woman  who  was  with  Maria 
Melson  in  1891 — the  spring  of  the  year  we  went  to  Aix 
— and  I remember  dining  there  two  days  before  we  sailed, 
and  feeling  sure  the  coppers  had  n’t  been  scoured.” 

“I  don’t  think  I ate  much;  I can’t  eat  or  sleep.”  Lily 
paused,  and  then  said  abruptly:  “The  fact  is.  Aunt  Julia, 
I owe  some  money.” 

Mrs.  Peniston’s  face  clouded  perceptibly,  but  did  not 
express  the  astonishment  her  niece  had  expected.  She 
was  silent,  and  Lily  was  forced  to  continue:  “I  have  been 
foolish ” 

“No  doubt  you  have:  extremely  foolish,”  Mrs.  Penis- 
ton  interposed.  “I  fail  to  see  how  any  one  with  your  in- 
come, and  no  expenses — not  to  mention  the  handsome 
presents  I’ve  always  given  you ” 

“Oh, you’ve  been  most  generous,  Aunt  Julia;  I shall 
never  forget  your  kindness.  But  perhaps  you  don’t  quite 
realize  the  expense  a girl  is  put  to  nowadays ” 

“I  don’t  realize  that  j/om  are  put  to  any  expense  except 
for  your  clothes  and  your  railway  fares.  I expect  you  to 
be  handsomely  dressed ; but  I paid  Celeste’s  bill  for  you 
last  October.” 

Lily  hesitated:  her  aunt’s  implacable  memory  had  never 
been  more  inconvenient.  “You  were  as  kind  as  possible; 
but  I have  had  to  get  a few  things  since ” 

“What  kind  of  things.?  Clothes?  How  much  have  you 

[ 275  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


spent?  Let  me  see  the  bill — I daresay  the  woman  is 
swindling  you.” 

“Oh,  no,  I think  not:  clothes  have  growm  so  frightfully 
expensive;  and  one  needs  so  many  different  kinds,  with 
country  visits,  and  golf  and  skating,  and  Aiken  and  Tux- 
edo  ” 

“Let  me  see  the  bill,”  Mrs.  Peniston  repeated. 

Lily  hesitated  again.  In  the  first  place,  Mme.  C^este  had 
not  yet  sent  in  her  account,  and  secondly,  the  amount  it  re- 
presented was  only  a fraction  of  the  sum  that  Lily  needed. 

“She  has  n’t  sent  in  the  bill  for  my  vdnter  things,  but 
I Tcnow  it’s  large;  and  there  are  one  or  two  other  things; 
I’ve  been  careless  and  imprudent — I’m  frightened  to 
think  of  what  I owe ” 

She  raised  the  troubled  loveliness  of  her  face  to  Mrs. 
Peniston,  vainly  hoping  that  a sight  so  moUng  to  the 
other  sex  might  not  be  without  effect  upon  her  own.  But 
the  effect  produced  was  that  of  making  Mrs.  Peniston 
shrink  back  apprehensively. 

“Really,  Lily,  you  are  old  enough  to  manage  your  own 
affairs,  and  after  frightening  me  to  death  by  your  per- 
formance of  last  night  you  might  at  least  choose  a bet- 
ter time  to  worry  me  with  such  mattei’s.”  ]Mrs.  Peniston 
glanced  at  the  clock,  and  swallowed  a tablet  of  digitalis. 
“If  you  owe  Celeste  another  thousand,  she  may  send  me 
her  account,”  she  added,  as  though  to  end  the  discus- 
sion at  any  cost. 


r ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“1  am  very  sorry,  Aunt  Julia;  I hate  to  trouble  you 
at  such  a time;  but  I have  really  no  choice— I ought  to 
have  spoken  sooner — I owe  a great  deal  more  than  a 
thousand  dollars.” 

“A  great  deal  more  ? Do  you  owe  two.?  She  must  have 
robbed  you!” 

“I  told  you  it  was  not  only  Celeste.  I — there  are  other 
bills — more  pressing — that  must  be  settled.” 

“What  on  earth  have  you  been  buying?  Jewelry?  You 
must  have  gone  off  your  head,”  said  Mrs.  Peniston  with 
asperity.  “But  if  you  have  run  into  debt,  you  must  suffer 
the  consequences,  and  put  aside  your  monthly  income 
till  your  bills  are  paid.  If  you  stay  quietly  here  until 
next  spring,  instead  of  racing  about  all  over  the  country, 
you  will  have  no  expenses  at  all,  and  surely  in  four  or 
five  months  you  can  settle  the  rest  of  your  bills  if  I pay 
the  di’ess-maker  now.” 

Lily  was  again  silent.  She  knew  she  could  not  hope  to 
extract  even  a thousand  dollars  from  Mrs.  Peniston  on 
the  mere  plea  of  paying  Celeste’s  bill:  Mrs.  Peniston 
would  expect  to  go  over  the  dress-maker’s  account,  and 
would  make  out  the  cheque  to  her  and  not  to  Lily.  And 
yet  the  money  must  be  obtained  before  the  day  was 
over! 

*‘The  debts  I speak  of  are — different — not  like  trades- 
men’s bills,”  she  began  confusedly;  but  Mrs.  Peniston’s 
look  made  her  almost  afraid  to  continue.  Could  it  be 
[ 277  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


that  her  aunt  suspected  anything?  The  idea  precipitated 
Lily’s  avowal. 

“The  fact  is,  I’ve  played  cards  a good  deal — bridge; 
the  women  aU  do  it ; girls  too — it ’s  expected.  Sometimes 
I’ve  won — won  a good  deal — but  lately  I’ve  been  un- 
lucky— and  of  course  such  debts  can’t  be  paid  off  grad- 
ually  ” 

She  paused:  Mrs.  Peniston’s  face  seemed  to  be  petrify- 
ing as  she  listened. 

“Cards — you’ve  played  cards  for  money?  It’s  true, 
then : when  I was  told  so  I would  n’t  believe  it.  I won’t 
ask  if  the  other  horrors  I was  told  were  true  too ; I ’ve 
heard  enough  for  the  state  of  my  neiwes.  MTien  I think 
of  the  example  you ’ve  had  in  this  house ! But  I suppose 
it ’s  your  foreign  bringing-up — no  one  knew  where  your 
mother  picked  up  her  friends.  And  her  Sundays  were  a 
scandal — that  I know.”  Mrs.  Peniston  wheeled  round 
suddenly.  “You  play  cards  on  Sunday?” 

Lily  flushed  with  the  recollection  of  certain  rainy  Sun- 
days at  Bellomont  and  with  the  Corsets. 

“You  ’re  hard  on  me.  Aunt  Julia:  I have  never  really 
cared  for  cards,  but  a girl  hates  to  be  thought  priggish 
and  superior,  and  one  drifts  into  doing  what  the  others 
do.  I ’ve  had  a dreadful  lesson,  and  if  you  ’ll  help  me  out 
this  time  I promise  you ” 

Mrs.  Peniston  raised  her  hand  wamingly.  “You  need  n’t 
make  any  promises : it ’s  imnecessary.  ^Vhen  I offered  you 
[ 278  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


a home  I did  n’t  undertake  to  pay  your  gambling  debts.” 

“Aunt  Julia!  You  don’t  mean  that  you  won’t  help 
me.?” 

“I  shall  certainly  not  do  anything  to  give  the  impres- 
sion that  I countenance  your  behaviour.  If  you  really 
owe  your  dress-maker,  I will  settle  with  her — beyond 
that  I recognize  no  obligation  to  assume  your  debts.” 

Lily  had  risen,  and  stood  pale  and  quivering  before 
her  aunt.  Pride  stormed  in  her,  but  humiliation  forced 
the  cry  from  her  lips : “Aunt  Julia,  I shall  be  disgraced — 

I ” But  she  could  go  no  farther.  If  her  aunt  turned 

such  a stony  ear  to  the  fiction  of  the  gambhng  debts,  in 
what  spirit  would  she  receive  the  terrible  avowal  of  the 
truth.? 

“ I consider  that  you  are  disgraced,  Lily : disgraced 
by  your  conduct  far  more  than  by  its  results.  You  say 
your  friends  have  persuaded  you  to  play  cards  with  them ; 
well,  they  may  as  well  learn  a lesson  too.  They  can  prob- 
ably afford  to  lose  a little  money — and  at  any  rate,  I 
am  not  going  to  waste  any  of  mine  in  paying  them.  And 
now  I must  ask  you  to  leave  me  — this  scene  has  been 
extremely  painful,  and  I have  my  own  health  to  consider. 
Draw  down  the  blinds,  please;  and  tell  Jennings  I will 
see  no  one  this  afternoon  but  Grace  Stepney.” 

Lily  went  up  to  her  own  room  and  bolted  the  door. 
She  was  trembling  with  fear  and  anger — the  rush  of  the 
furies’  wings  was  in  her  ears.  She  walked  up  and  down 
[ 279  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  room  with  blind  irregular  steps.  The  last  door  of 
escape  was  closed — she  felt  herself  shut  in  wdth  her  dis- 
honour  

Suddenly  her  wild  pacing  brought  her  before  the  clock 
on  the  chimney-piece.  Its  hands  stood  at  half-past  three, 
and  she  remembered  that  Selden  was  to  come  to  her  at 
four.  She  had  meant  to  put  him  off  with  a word — but 
now  her  heart  leaped  at  the  thought  of  seeing  him. 
Was  there  not  a promise  of  rescue  in  his  love.^^  As  she 
had  lain  at  Gerty’s  side  the  night  before,  she  had  thought 
of  his  coming,  and  of  the  sweetness  of  weeping  out  her 
pain  upon  his  breast.  Of  coui’se  she  had  meant  to  clear 
herself  of  its  consequences  before  she  met  him — she  had 
never  really  doubted  that  Mrs.  Peniston  would  come  to 
her  aid.  And  she  had  felt,  even  in  the  full  storm  of  her 
misery,  that  Selden’s  love  could  not  be  her  iiltimate 
refuge;  only  it  would  be  so  sweet  to  take  a moment’s 
shelter  there,  while  she  gathered  fresh  strength  to  go  on. 

But  now  his  love  was  her  only  hope,  and  as  she  sat 
alone  with  her  wretchedness  the  thought  of  confiding  in 
him  became  as  seductive  as  the  rivers  flow  to  the  suicide. 
The  first  plunge  would  be  terrible — but  afterward,  what 
blessedness  might  come!  She  remembered  Gerty’s  words: 
“I  know  him — he  wall  help  you”;  and  her  mind  clung 
to  them  as  a sick  person  might  cling  to  a healing  relic. 
Oh,  if  he  really  understood — if  he  would  help  her  to 
gather  up  her  broken  life,  and  put  it  together  in  some 
[ 280  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


new  semblance  in  which  no  trace  of  the  past  should  re* 
main!  He  had  always  made  her  feel  that  she  was  worthy 
of  better  things,  and  she  had  never  been  in  greater  need 
of  such  solace.  Once  and  again  she  shrank  at  the  thought 
of  imperilling  his  love  by  her  confession:  for  love  was 
what  she  needed — it  would  take  the  glow  of  passion  to 
weld  together  the  shattered  fragments  of  her  self-esteem. 
But  she  recurred  to  Gerty’s  words  and  held  fast  to  them. 
She  was  sure  that  Gerty  knew  Selden’s  feeling  for  her, 
and  it  had  never  dawned  upon  her  blindness  that  Gerty’s 
own  judgment  of  him  was  coloured  by  emotions  far  more 
ardent  than  her  own. 

Four  o’clock  found  her  in  the  drawing-room:  she  was 
lure  that  Selden  would  be  punctual.  But  the  hour  came 
and  passed — it  moved  on  feverishly,  measured  by  her 
impatient  heart-beats.  She  had  time  to  take  a fresh  sur- 
vey of  her  wretchedness,  and  to  fluctuate  anew  between 
ftie  impulse  to  confide  in  Selden  and  the  dread  of  destroy- 
ing his  illusions.  But  as  the  minutes  passed  the  need  of 
throwing  herself  on  his  comprehension  became  more  ur- 
gent: she  could  not  bear  the  weight  of  her  misery  alone. 
There  would  be  a perilous  moment,  perhaps:  but  could 
she  not  trust  to  her  beauty  to  bridge  it  over,  to  land  her 
safe  in  the  shelter  of  his  devotion.? 

But  the  hour  sped  on  and  Selden  did  not  come.  Doubt- 
less he  had  been  detained,  or  had  misread  her  hurriedly 
scrawled  note,  taking  the  four  for  a five.  The  ringing  of 
[ 28)  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  door-bell  a few  minutes  after  five  confirmed  this  sup- 
position, and  made  Lily  hastily  resolve  to  write  more 
legibly  in  future.  The  sound  of  steps  in  the  hall,  and  of 
the  butler’s  voice  preceding  them,  poured  fresh  energy 
into  her  veins.  She  felt  herself  once  more  the  alert  and 
competent  moulder  of  emergencies,  and  the  remembrance 
of  her  power  over  Selden  flushed  her  with  sudden  confi- 
dence. But  when  the  drawing-room  door  opened  it  was 
Rosedale  who  came  in. 

The  reaction  caused  her  a sharp  pang,  but  after  a pass- 
ing movement  of  irritation  at  the  clumsiness  of  fate,  and 
at  her  own  carelessness  in  not  denying  the  door  to  all 
but  Selden,  she  controlled  herself  and  greeted  Rosedale 
amicably.  It  was  annoying  that  Selden,  when  he  came, 
should  find  that  particular  visitor  in  possession,  but  Lily 
was  mistress  of  the  art  of  ridding  herself  of  superfluous 
company,  and  to  her  present  mood  Rosedale  seemed  dis- 
tinctly negligible. 

His  own  view  of  the  situation  forced  itself  upon  her 
after  a few  moments’  conversation.  She  had  caught  at  the 
Brys’  entertainment  as  an  easy  impersonal  subject,  likely 
to  tide  them  over  the  interval  till  Selden  appeared,  but 
Mr.  Rosedale,  tenaciously  planted  beside  the  tea-table, 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  legs  a httle  too  freely  ex- 
tended, at  once  gave  the  topic  a personal  turn. 

“Pretty  well  done — well,  yes,  I suppose  it  was:  Welly 
Bry ’s  got  his  back  up  and  don’t  mean  to  let  go  till  he 's 
[ 282  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


got  the  hang  of  the  thing.  Of  course,  there  were  things 
here  and  there — things  Mrs.  Fisher  could  n’t  be  expected 
to  see  to — the  champagne  was  n’t  cold,  and  the  coats  got 
mixed  in  the  coat-room.  I would  have  spent  more  money 
on  the  music.  But  that ’s  my  character : if  I want  a thing 
I’m  willing  to  pay:  I don’t  go  up  to  the  counter,  and 
then  wonder  if  the  article ’s  worth  the  price.  I would  n’t 
be  satisfied  to  entertain  like  the  Welly  Brys;  I’d  want 
something  that  would  look  more  easy  and  natural,  more 
as  if  I took  it  in  my  stride.  And  it  takes  just  two  things 
to  do  that.  Miss  Bart:  money,  and  the  right  woman  to 
spend  it.” 

He  paused,  and  examined  her  attentively  while  she 
affected  to  rearrange  the  tea-cups. 

“I ’ve  got  the  money,”  he  continued,  clearing  his  throat, 
“and  what  I want  is  the  woman — and  I mean  to  have 
her  too.” 

He  leaned  forward  a little,  resting  his  hands  on  the 
head  of  his  walking-stick.  He  had  seen  men  of  Ned  Van 
Alstyne’s  type  bring  their  hats  and  sticks  into  a draw- 
ing-room, and  he  thought  it  added  a touch  of  elegant 
familiarity  to  their  appearance. 

Lily  was  silent,  smiling  faintly,  with  her  eyes  absently 
resting  on  his  face.  She  was  in  reality  reflecting  that  a 
declaration  would  take  some  time  to  make,  and  that  Sel- 
den  must  surely  appear  before  the  moment  of  refusal  had 
been  reached.  Her  brooding  look,  as  of  a mind  withdrawn 
[ 283  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


yet  not  averted,  seemed  to  Mr.  Rosedale  full  of  a subtle 
encouragement.  He  would  not  have  liked  any  evidence 
of  eagerness. 

“I  mean  to  have  her  too,”  he  repeated,  with  a laugh 
intended  to  strengthen  his  self-assurance.  “I  generally 
have  got  what  I wanted  in  life.  Miss  Bart.  I wanted 
money,  and  I’ve  got  more  than  I know  how  to  invest; 
and  now  the  money  doesn’t  seem  to  be  of  any  account 
unless  I can  spend  it  on  the  right  woman.  That’s  what 
I want  to  do  with  it:  I want  my  wnfe  to  make  all  the 
other  women  feel  small.  I ’d  never  grudge  a doUar  that 
was  spent  on  that.  But  it  is  n’t  every  woman  can  do  it,  no 
matter  how  much  you  spend  on  her.  There  was  a girl  in 
some  history  book  who  wanted  gold  shields,  or  something, 
and  the  fellows  threw  ’em  at  her,  and  she  was  crushed 
under  ’em:  they  killed  her.  Well,  that’s  true  enough; 
some  women  looked  biuied  under  their  jewelry.  MTiat  I 
want  is  a woman  who’ll  hold  her  head  higher  the  more 
diamonds  I put  on  it.  And  when  I looked  at  you  the 
other  night  at  the  Brys’,  in  that  plain  white  dress,  look- 
ing as  if  you  had  a crown  on,  I said  to  myself:  ‘By  gad, 
if  she  had  one  she’d  wear  it  as  if  it  grew  on  her.’” 

Still  Lily  did  not  speak,  and  he  continued,  warming 
with  his  theme:  “Tell  you  what  it  is,  though,  that  kind 
of  woman  costs  more  than  all  the  rest  of ’em  put  together. 
If  a woman’s  going  to  ignore  her  pearls,  they  want  to  be 
better  than  anybody  else’s — and  so  it  is  with  everything 
[ 284  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


else.  You  know  what  I mean — you  know  it’s  only  the 
showy  things  that  are  cheap.  Well,  I should  want  my 
wife  to  be  able  to  take  the  earth  for  granted  if  she  wanted 
to.  I know  there’s  one  thing  vulgar  about  money,  and 
that’s  the  thinking  about  it;  and  my  wife  would  never 
have  to  demean  herself  in  that  way.”  He  paused,  and 
then  added,  with  an  unfortunate  lapse  to  an  earlier  man- 
ner: “I  guess  you  know  the  lady  I’ve  got  in  view,  Miss 
Bart.” 

Lily  raised  her  head,  brightening  a little  under  the 
challenge.  Even  through  the  dark  tumult  of  her  thoughts, 
the  clink  of  Mr.  Rosedale’s  millions  had  a faintly  seduc- 
tive note.  Oh,  for  enough  of  them  to  cancel  her  one  mis- 
erable debt!  But  the  man  behind  them  grew  increasingly 
repugnant  in  the  light  of  Selden’s  expected  coming.  The 
contrast  was  too  grotesque;  she  could  scarcely  suppress 
the  smile  it  pi'ovoked.  She  decided  that  directness  would 
be  best. 

“If  you  mean  me,  Mr.  Rosedale,  I am  very  grateful 
— very  much  flattered;  but  I don’t  know  what  I have 
ever  done  to  make  you  think ” 

“Oh,  if  you  mean  you’re  not  dead  in  love  with  me, 
I ’ve  got  sense  enough  left  to  see  that.  And  I ain’t  talk- 
ing to  you  as  if  you  were — I presume  I know  the  kind 
of  talk  that’s  expected  under  those  circumstances.  I’m 
confoundedly  gone  on  you — that ’s  about  the  size  of  it — 
and  I’m  just  giving  you  a plain  business  statement  of 

I 286  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  consequences.  You’re  not  very  fond  of  me — yet — 
but  you’re  fond  of  luxury,  and  style,  and  amusement, 
and  of  not  having  to  worry  about  cash.  You  like  to  have 
a good  time,  and  not  to  have  to  settle  for  it;  and  what 
I propose  to  do  is  to  provide  for  the  good  time  and  do 
the  settling.” 

He  paused,  and  she  returned  with  a chilling  smile: 
“You  are  mistaken  in  one  point,  Mr.  Rosedale:  whatever 
I enjoy  I am  prepared  to  settle  for.” 

She  spoke  with  the  intention  of  making  him  see  that, 
if  his  words  implied  a tentative  allusion  to  her  private 
affairs,  she  was  prepared  to  meet  and  repudiate  it.  But 
if  he  recognized  her  meaning  it  failed  to  abash  him,  and 
he  went  on  in  the  same  tone:  “I  didn’t  mean  to  give 
offence;  excuse  me  if  I’ve  spoken  too  plainly.  But  why 
ain’t  you  straight  with  me — why  do  you  put  up  that 
kind  of  bluff.!’  You  know  there ’ve  been  times  when  you 
were  bothered — damned  bothered — and  as  a girl  gets 
older,  and  things  keep  moving  along,  why,  before  she 
knows  it,  the  things  she  wants  are  liable  to  move  past  her 
and  not  come  back.  I don’t  say  it ’s  anywhere  near  that 
with  you  yet ; but  you ’ve  had  a taste  of  bothers  that  a 
girl  like  yourself  ought  never  to  have  known  about,  and 
what  I’m  offering  you  is  the  chance  to  tium  your  back 
on  them  once  for  all.” 

The  colour  burned  in  Lily’s  face  as  he  ended;  there 
was  no  mistaking  the  point  he  meant  to  make,  and  to 
[ 286  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


permit  it  to  pass  unheeded  was  a fatal  confession  of 
weakness,  while  to  resent  it  too  openly  was  to  risk  offend- 
ing him  at  a perilous  moment.  Indignation  quivered  on 
her  lip;  but  it  was  quelled  by  the  secret  voice  which 
warned  her  that  she  must  not  quarrel  with  him.  He  knew 
too  much  about  her,  and  even  at  the  moment  when  it 
was  essential  that  he  should  show  himself  at  his  best,  he 
did  not  scruple  to  let  her  see  how  much  he  knew.  How 
then  would  he  use  his  power  when  her  expression  of  con- 
tempt had  dispelled  his  one  motive  for  restraint.'’  Her 
whole  future  might  hinge  on  her  way  of  answering  him; 
she  had  to  stop  and  consider  that,  in  the  stress  of  her 
other  anxieties,  as  a breathless  fugitive  may  have  to  pause 
at  the  cross-roads  and  try  to  decide  coolly  which  turn  to 
take. 

“ Y ou  are  quite  right,  Mr.  Rosedale.  I have  had  bothers ; 
and  I am  grateful  to  you  for  wanting  to  relieve  me  of 
them.  It  is  not  always  easy  to  be  quite  independent  and 
self-respecting  when  one  is  poor  and  lives  among  rich 
people;  I have  been  careless  about  money,  and  have  wor- 
ried about  my  bills.  But  I should  be  selfish  and  ungrate- 
ful if  I made  that  a reason  for  accepting  all  you  offer, 
with  no  better  return  to  make  than  the  desire  to  be  free 
from  my  anxieties.  You  must  give  me  time — time  to  think 
of  your  kindness — and  of  what  I could  give  you  in  return 
for  it ” 


She  held  out  her  hand  with  a charming  gesture  ia 

[ 287  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


which  dismissal  was  shorn  of  its  rigour.  Its  hint  of  future 
leniency  made  Rosedale  rise  in  obedience  to  it,  a little 
flushed  with  his  unhoped-for  success,  and  disciplined  by 
the  tradition  of  his  blood  to  accept  what  w'as  conceded, 
without  undue  haste  to  press  for  more.  Something  in  his 
prompt  acquiescence  frightened  her;  she  felt  behind  it 
the  stored  force  of  a patience  that  might  subdue  the 
strongest  will.  But  at  least  they  had  parted  amicably, 
and  he  was  out  of  the  house  without  meeting  Selden — 
Selden,  whose  continued  absence  now  smote  her  with  a 
new  alarm.  Rosedale  had  remained  over  an  hour,  and  she 
understood  that  it  was  now  too  late  to  hope  for  Selden. 
He  would  write  explaining  his  absence,  of  coui’se;  there 
would  be  a note  from  him  by  the  late  post.  But  her  con- 
fession would  have  to  be  postponed;  and  the  chill  of  the 
delay  settled  heavily  on  her  fagged  spirit. 

It  lay  heavier  when  the  postman’s  last  ring  brought 
no  note  for  her,  and  she  had  to  go  upstairs  to  a lonely 
night — a night  as  grim  and  sleepless  as  her  tortured 
fancy  had  pictured  it  to  Gerty.  She  had  never  learned 
to  live  with  her  own  thoughts,  and  to  be  confronted  with 
them  through  such  hours  of  lucid  misery  made  the  con- 
fused wretchedness  of  her  previous  vigil  seem  easily  bear- 
able. 

Daylight  disbanded  the  phantom  crew,  and  made  it 
clear  to  her  that  she  would  hear  from  Selden  before 
noon ; but  the  day  passed  wf  thout  his  writing  or  coming. 

[ 288  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lily  remained  at  home,  lunching  and  dining  alone  with 
her  aunt,  who  complained  of  flutterings  of  the  heart,  and 
talked  icily  on  general  topics.  Mrs.  Peniston  went  to 
bed  early,  and  when  she  had  gone  Lily  sat  down  and 
wrote  a note  to  Selden.  She  was  about  to  ring  for  a mes- 
senger to  despatch  it  when  her  eye  fell  on  a paragraph 
in  the  evening  paper  which  lay  at  her  elbow : “ Mr.  Law- 
rence Selden  was  among  the  passengers  sailing  this  after- 
noon for  Havana  and  the  West  Indies  on  the  Windward 
Liner  Antilles.” 

She  laid  down  the  paper  and  sat  motionless,  staring 
at  her  note.  She  understood  now  that  he  was  never  com- 
ing— that  he  had  gone  away  because  he  was  afraid  that 
he  might  come.  She  rose,  and  walking  across  the  floor 
stood  gazing  at  herself  for  a long  time  in  the  brightly- 
lit  mirror  above  the  mantelpiece.  The  lines  in  her  face 
came  out  terribly — she  looked  old;  and  when  a girl  looks 
old  to  herself,  how  does  she  look  to  other  people.?  She 
moved  away,  and  began  to  wander  aimlessly  about  the 
room,  fitting  her  steps  with  mechanical  precision  be- 
tween the  monstrous  roses  of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  Axminster. 
Suddenly  she  noticed  that  the  pen  with  which  she  had 
written  to  Selden  still  rested  against  the  uncovered  ink- 
stand.  She  seated  herself  again,  and  taking  out  an  en- 
velope, addressed  it  rapidly  to  Rosedale.  Then  she  laid 
out  a sheet  of  paper,  and  sat  over  it  with  suspended  pen. 
It  had  been  easy  enough  to  write  the  date,  and  “Dear 

I.  289  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Mr.  Rosedale” — but  after  that  her  inspiration  flagged. 
She  meant  to  teU  him  to  come  to  her,  but  the  words  re- 
fused to  shape  themselves.  At  length  she  began ; “I  have 

been  thinking ” then  she  laid  the  pen  down,  and 

sat  with  her  elbows  on  the  table  and  her  face  hidden  in 
her  hands. 

Suddenly  she  started  up  at  the  sound  of  the  door-bell. 
It  was  not  late — barely  ten  o’clock — and  there  might 
still  be  a note  from  Selden,  or  a message — or  he  might 
be  there  himself,  on  the  other  side  of  the  door ! The  an- 
nouncement of  his  sailing  might  have  been  a mistake — 
it  might  be  another  Lawrence  Selden  who  had  gone  to 
Havana — all  these  possibilities  had  time  to  flash  through 
her  mind,  and  build  up  the  conviction  that  she  was  after 
all  to  see  or  hear  from  him,  before  the  drawing-room  door 
opened  to  admit  a servant  cari'ying  a telegram. 

Lily  tore  it  open  with  shaking  hands,  and  read  Bertha 
Dorset’s  name  below  the  message : “ Sailing  unexpectedly 
tomorrow.  Will  you  join  us  on  a cruise  in  Mediterranean  ?” 


[ 290  J 


.4/% 


BOOK  II 


I 

IT  came  vividly  to  Selden  on  the  Casino  steps  that 
Monte  Carlo  had,  more  than  any  other  place  he 
knew,  the  gift  of  accommodating  itself  to  each  man’s 
humour. 

His  own,  at  the  moment,  lent  it  a festive  readiness  of 
welcome  that  might  well,  in  a disenchanted  eye,  have 
turned  to  paint  and  facility.  So  frank  an  appeal  for  par- 
ticipation— so  outspoken  a recognition  of  the  holiday 
vein  in  human  nature — struck  refreshingly  on  a mind 
jaded  by  prolonged  hard  work  in  surroundings  made  for 
the  discipline  of  the  senses.  As  he  surveyed  the  white 
square  set  in  an  exotic  coquetry  of  architecture,  the 
studied  tropicality  of  the  gardens,  the  groups  loitering 
in  the  foreground  against  mauve  mountains  which  sug- 
gested a sublime  stage-setting  forgotten  in  a hurried 
shifting  of  scenes — as  he  took  in  the  whole  outspread 
effect  of  light  and  leisure,  he  felt  a movement  of  revulsion 
from  the  last  few  months  of  his  life. 

The  New  York  winter  had  presented  an  interminable 
perspective  of  snow-burdened  days,  reaching  toward  a 
spring  of  raw  sunshine  and  furious  air,  when  the  ugliness 
of  things  rasped  the  eye  as  the  gritty  wind  ground  into 


[ 293  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  skin.  Selden,  immersed  in  his  work,  had  told  him- 
self that  external  conditions  did  not  matter  to  a man  in 
his  state,  and  that  cold  and  ugliness  were  a good  tonic 
for  relaxed  sensibilities.  MTien  an  urgent  case  summoned 
him  abroad  to  confer  with  a client  in  Paris,  he  broke  re- 
luctantly with  the  routine  of  the  office ; and  it  was  only 
now  that,  having  despatched  his  business,  and  slipped 
away  for  a week  in  the  south,  he  began  to  feel  the  re- 
newed zest  of  spectatorship  that  is  the  solace  of  those 
who  take  an  objective  interest  in  life. 

The  multiplicity  of  its  appeals — the  perpetual  sur- 
prise of  its  contrasts  and  resemblances!  All  these  tricks 
and  turns  of  the  show  were  upon  him  wuth  a spring  as 
he  descended  the  Casino  steps  and  paused  on  the  pave- 
ment at  its  doors.  He  had  not  been  abroad  for  seven 
years — and  what  changes  the  renewed  contact  produced! 
If  the  central  depths  were  untouched,  hardly  a pin-point 
of  surface  remained  the  same.  Amd  this  was  tire  very  place 
to  bring  out  the  completeness  of  the  renewal.  The  sub- 
limities, the  perpetuities,  might  have  left  him  as  he  was : 
but  this  tent  pitched  for  a day’s  revelry  spread  a roof  of 
oblivion  between  himself  and  his  fixed  sky. 

It  was  mid- April,  and  one  felt  that  the  revelry  had 
reached  its  climax  and  that  the  desultory  groups  in  the 
square  and  gardens  would  soon  dissolve  and  re-form  in 
other  scenes.  Meanwhile  the  last  moments  of  the  perform- 
ance seemed  to  gain  an  added  brightness  from  the  hov- 
[ 294  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ering  threat  of  the  curtain.  The  quality  of  the  air,  the 
exuberance  of  the  flowers,  the  blue  intensity  of  sea  and 
sky,  produced  the  effect  of  a closing  tableau,  when  all  the 
lights  are  turned  on  at  once.  This  impression  was  pres- 
ently heightened  by  the  way  in  which  a consciously  con- 
spicuous group  of  people  advanced  to  the  middle  front, 
and  stood  before  Selden  with  the  air  of  the  chief  per- 
formers gathered  together  by  the  exigencies  of  the  final 
effect.  Their  appearance  confirmed  the  impression  that 
the  show  had  been  staged  regardless  of  expense,  and 
emphasized  its  resemblance  to  one  of  those  “costume- 
plays  ” in  which  the  protagonists  walk  through  the  pas- 
sions without  displacing  a drapery.  The  ladies  stood  in 
unrelated  attitudes  calculated  to  isolate  their  effects,  and 
the  men  hung  about  them  as  irrelevantly  as  stage  heroes 
whose  tailors  are  named  in  the  programme.  It  was  Selden 
himself  who  unwittingly  fused  the  group  by  arresting 
the  attention  of  one  of  its  members. 

“Why,  Mr.  Selden!”  Mrs.  Fisher  exclaimed  in  sur- 
prise; and  with  a gesture  toward  Mrs.  Jack  Stepney  and 
Mrs.  Wellington  Bry,  she  added  plaintively:  “We’re 
starving  to  death  because  we  can’t  decide  where  to 
lunch.” 

Welcomed  into  their  group,  and  made  the  confidant 
of  their  difficulty,  Selden  learned  with  amusement  that 
there  were  several  places  where  one  might  miss  some- 
thing by  not  lunching,  or  forfeit  something  by  lunching; 

r MS  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


so  that  eating  actually  became  a minor  consideration  on 
the  very  spot  consecrated  to  its  rites. 

“Of  course  one  gets  the  best  things  at  the  Terrasse — 
but  that  looks  as  if  one  had  n’t  any  other  reason  for  being 
there : the  Americans  who  don’t  know  any  one  always  rush 
for  the  best  food.  And  the  Duchess  of  Beltshire  has  taken 
up  Becassin’s  lately,”  Mrs.  Bry  earnestly  summed  up. 

Mrs.  Bry,  to  Mrs.  Fisher’s  despair,  had  not  progressed 
beyond  the  point  of  weighing  her  social  alternatives  in 
public.  She  could  not  acquire  the  air  of  doing  things 
because  she  wanted  to,  and  making  her  choice  the  final 
seal  of  their  fitness. 

Mr.  Bry,  a short  pale  man,  with  a business  face  and 
leisure  clothes,  met  the  dilemma  hilariously. 

“ I guess  the  Duchess  goes  where  it ’s  cheapest,  unless 
she  can  get  her  meal  paid  for.  If  you  offered  to  blow  her 
off  at  the  Terrasse  she ’d  turn  up  fast  enough.” 

But  Ml’S.  Jack  Stepney  interposed.  “The  Grand  Dukes 
go  to  that  little  place  at  the  Condamine.  Lord  Hubert 
says  it ’s  the  only  restaurant  in  Europe  where  they  can 
cook  peas.” 

Lord  Hubert  Dacey,  a slender  shabby-looking  man, 
with  a charming  worn  smile,  and  the  air  of  having  spent 
his  best  years  in  piloting  the  wealthy  to  the  right  restau- 
rant, assented  with  gentle  emphasis:  “It’s  quite  that.” 

“Peas?'”  said  ]\Ir.  Bry  contemptuously.  “Can  they  cook 
terrapin.^  It  just  shows,”  he  continued,  “what  these  Eui'o- 

[ 296  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


pean  markets  are,  when  a fellow  can  make  a reputation 
cooking  peas!” 

Jack  Stepney  intervened  with  authority.  “I  don’t 
know  that  I quite  agree  with  Dacey : there ’s  a little  hole 
in  Paris,  off  the  Quai  Voltaire — but  in  any  case,  I can’t 
advise  the  Condamine  gar  gate;  at  least  not  with  ladies.” 

Stepney,  since  his  marriage,  had  thickened  and  grown 
prudish,  as  the  Van  Osburgh  husbands  were  apt  to  do; 
but  his  wife,  to  his  surprise  and  discomfiture,  had  devel- 
oped an  earth-shaking  fastness  of  gait  which  left  him 
trailing  breathlessly  in  her  wake. 

“That’s  where  we’ll  go  then!”  she  declared,  with  a 
heavy  toss  of  her  plumage.  “ I ’m  so  tired  of  the  Ter- 
rasse:  it’s  as  dull  as  one  of  mother’s  dinners.  And  Lord 
Hubert  has  promised  to  tell  us  who  all  the  awful  people 
are  at  the  other  place — hasn’t  he.  Carry.?  Now,  Jack, 
don’t  look  so  solemn ! ” 

“Well,”  said  Mrs.  Bry,  “all  I want  to  know  is  who 
their  dress-makers  are.” 

“No  doubt  Dacey  can  tell  you  that  too,”  remarked 
Stepney,  with  an  ironic  intention  which  the  other  re- 
ceived with  the  light  murmur,  “I  can  at  least  find  out^ 
my  dear  fellow”;  and  Mrs.  Bry  having  declared  that  she 
could  n’t  walk  another  step,  the  party  hailed  two  or  thi’ee 
of  the  light  phaetons  which  hover  attentively  on  the  con- 
fines of  the  gardens,  and  rattled  off  in  procession  toward 
the  Condamine. 


r 297  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

Their  destination  was  one  of  the  little  restaui’ants 
overhanging  the  boulevard  which  dips  steeply  down 
from  Monte  Carlo  to  the  low  intermediate  quarter  along 
the  quay.  From  the  window  in  which  they  presently  found 
themselves  installed,  they  overlooked  the  intense  blue 
curve  of  the  harbour,  set  between  the  verdure  of  twin 
promontories:  to  the  right,  the  cliff  of  Monaco,  topped 
by  the  mediaeval  silhouette  of  its  church  and  castle,  to 
the  left  the  terraces  and  pinnacles  of  the  gambling- 
house.  Between  the  two,  the  wateis  of  the  bay  were  fur- 
rowed by  a light  coming  and  going  of  pleasure-craft, 
through  which,  just  at  the  culminating  moment  of  lunch- 
eon, the  majestic  advance  of  a great  steam-yacht  drew 
the  company’s  attention  from  the  peas. 

“By  Jove,  I believe  that’s  the  Doi-sets  back!”  Step- 
ney exclaimed;  and  Lord  Hubert,  dropping  his  single 
eye-glass,  corroborated:  “It’s  the  Sabrina — yes.” 

“So  soon.P  They  were  to  spend  a month  in  Sicily,” 
Mrs.  Fisher  observed. 

“I  guess  they  feel  as  if  they  had:  there’s  only  one 
up-to-date  hotel  in  the  whole  place,”  said  Mr.  Bry  dis- 
paragingly. 

“It  was  Ned  Silverton’s  idea — but  poor  Dorset  and 
Lily  Bart  must  have  been  hon-ibly  bored.”  Mrs.  Fisher 
added  in  an  undertone  to  Selden : “Ido  hope  there  has  n’t 
been  a row.” 

“It’s  most  awfully  jolly  having  Miss  Bart  back,”  said 

[ 298  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lord  Hubert,  in  his  mild  deliberate  voice;  and  Mrs.  Bry 
added  ingenuously ; “I  daresay  the  Duchess  will  dine  with 
us,  now  that  Lily ’s  here.” 

“The  Duchess  admires  her  immensely:  I’m  sure  she’d 
be  charmed  to  have  it  arranged,”  Lord  Hubert  agreed, 
with  the  professional  promptness  of  the  man  accustomed 
to  draw  his  profit  from  facilitating  social  contacts:  Selden 
was  struck  by  the  businesslike  change  in  his  manner. 

“Lily  h as  been  a tremendous  success  here,”  Mrs.  Fisher 
continued,  still  addressing  herself  confidentially  to  Selden. 
“She  looks  ten  years  younger — I never  saw  her  so  hand- 
some. Lady  Skiddaw  took  her  everywhere  in  Cannes,  and 
the  Crown  Princess  of  Macedonia  had  her  to  stop  for  a 
week  at  Cimiez.  People  say  that  was  one  reason  why 
Bertha  whisked  the  yacht  off  to  Sicily : the  Crown  Prin- 
cess did  n’t  take  much  notice  of  her,  and  she  could  n’t 
bear  to  look  on  at  Lily’s  triumph.” 

Selden  made  no  reply.  He  was  vaguely  aware  that 
Miss  Bart  was  cruising  in  the  Mediterranean  with  the 
Dorsets,  but  it  had  not  occurred  to  him  that  there  was 
any  chance  of  running  across  her  on  the  Riviera,  where 
the  season  was  virtually  at  an  end.  As  he  leaned  back, 
silently  contemplating  his  filigree  cup  of  Turkish  coffee, 
he  was  trying  to  put  some  order  in  his  thoughts,  to  tell 
himself  how  the  news  of  her  nearness  was  really  affecting 
him.  He  had  a personal  detachment  enabling  him,  even 
in  moments  of  emotional  high-pressure,  to  get  a fairly 

[ 299  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


clear  view  of  his  feelings,  and  he  was  sincerely  surprised 
by  the  disturbance  which  the  sight  of  the  Sabrina  had 
produced  in  him.  He  had  reason  to  think  that  his  three 
months  of  engrossing  professional  work,  following  on  the 
sharp  shock  of  his  disillusionment,  had  cleared  his  mind 
of  its  sentimental  vapours.  The  feeling  he  had  nourished 
and  given  prominence  to  was  one  of  thankfulness  for  his 
escape:  he  was  like  a traveller  so  grateful  for  rescue  from 
a dangerous  accident  that  at  first  he  is  hardly  conscious 
of  his  bruises.  Now  he  suddenly  felt  the  latent  ache,  and 
realized  that  after  all  he  had  not  come  off  unhurt. 

An  hour  later,  at  Mrs.  Fisher’s  side  in  the  Casino  gar- 
dens, he  was  trying  to  find  fr’esh  reasons  for  forgetting 
the  injury  received  in  the  contemplation  of  the  peril 
avoided.  The  party  had  dispersed  with  the  loitering  in- 
decision characteristic  of  social  movements  at  ^lonte 
Carlo,  where  the  whole  place,  and  the  long  gilded  hours 
of  the  day,  seem  to  offer  an  infinity  of  ways  of  being  idle. 
Lord  Hubert  Dacey  had  finally  gone  off  in  quest  of  the 
Duchess  of  Beltshire,  charged  by  IVIrs.  Bry  with  the  deli- 
cate negotiation  of  securing  that  lady’s  presence  at  din- 
ner, the  Stepneys  had  left  for  Nice  in  their  motor-car, 
and  Mr.  Bry  had  departed  to  take  his  place  in  the  pigeon- 
shooting match  which  was  at  the  moment  engaging  lais 
highest  faculties. 

Mrs.  Bry,  who  had  a tendency  to  grow  red  and  ster- 
torous after  luncheon,  had  been  judiciously  prevailed 
[ 300  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


upon  by  Carry  Fisher  to  withdraw  to  her  hotel  for  an 
hour’s  repose;  and  Selden  and  his  companion  were  thus 
left  to  a stroll  propitious  to  confidences.  The  stroll  soon 
resolved  itself  into  a tranquil  session  on  a bench  overhung 
with  laurel  and  Banksian  roses,  from  which  they  caught 
a dazzle  of  blue  sea  between  marble  balusters,  and  the 
fiery  shafts  of  cactus-blossoms  shooting  meteor-like  from 
the  rock.  The  soft  shade  of  their  niche,  and  the  adjacent 
glitter  of  the  air,  were  conducive  to  an  easy  lounging 
mood,  and  to  the  smoking  of  many  cigarettes ; and  Selden, 
yielding  to  these  influences,  suffered  Mrs.  Fisher  to  un- 
fold to  him  the  history  of  her  recent  experiences.  She  had 
come  abroad  with  the  Welly  Brys  at  the  moment  when 
fashion  flees  the  inclemency  of  the  New  York  spring.  The 
Brys,  intoxicated  by  their  first  success,  already  thirsted 
for  new  kingdoms,  and  Mrs.  Fisher,  viewing  the  Riviera 
as  an  easy  introduction  to  London  society,  had  guided 
their  course  thither.  She  had  affiliations  of  her  own  in 
every  capital,  and  a facility  for  picking  them  up  again 
afterlong  absences;  and  the  carefully  disseminated  rumour 
of  the  Brys’  wealth  had  at  once  gathered  about  them  a 
group  of  cosmopolitan  pleasure-seekers. 

“But  things  are  not  going  as  well  as  I expected,”  Mrs. 
Fisher  frankly  admitted.  “It’s  all  very  well  to  say  that 
everybody  with  money  can  get  into  society ; but  it  would 
be  timer  to  say  that  nearly  everybody  can.  And  the  Lon- 
don market  is  so  glutted  with  new  Americans  that,  to 
[ 301  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


succeed  there  now,  they  must  be  either  very  clever  or 
awfully  queer.  The  Brys  are  neither.  He  would  get  on 
weU  enough  if  she ’d  let  him  alone ; they  like  his  slang 
and  his  brag  and  his  blunders.  But  Louisa  spoils  it  aU 
by  trying  to  repress  him  and  put  herself  forward.  If  she ’d 
be  natural  herself — fat  and  vulgar  and  bouncing — it 
would  be  all  light;  but  as  soon  as  she  meets  anybody 
smaif  she  tries  to  be  slender  and  queenly.  She  tried  it 
with  the  Duchess  of  Beltshire  and  Lady  Skiddaw,  and 
they  fled.  I ’ve  done  my  best  to  make  her  see  her  mistake 
— I’ve  said  to  her  again  and  again:  ‘Just  let  yourself 
go,  Louisa’ ; but  she  keeps  up  the  humbug  even  with  me 
—I  believe  she  keeps  on  being  queenly  in  her  own  room, 
with  the  door  shut. 

“The  worst  of  it  is,”  Mrs.  Fisher  went  on,  “that  she 
thinks  it’s  all  my  fault.  MTien  the  Dorsets  turned  up 
here  six  weeks  ago,  and  everybody  began  to  make  a fuss 
about  Lily  Bart,  I could  see  Louisa  thought  that  if  she ’d 
had  Lily  in  tow  instead  of  me  she  would  have  been  hob- 
nobbing with  all  the  royalties  by  this  time.  She  does  n’t 
realize  that  it’s  Lily’s  beauty  that  does  it:  Lord  Hubert 
tells  me  Lily  is  thought  even  handsomer  than  when  he 
knew  her  at  Aix  ten  years  ago.  It  seems  she  was  tremen- 
dously admired  there.  An  Italian  Prince,  rich  and  the 
real  thing,  wanted  to  many  her;  but  just  at  the  critical 
moment  a good-looking  step-son  turned  up,  and  Lily 
was  silly  enough  to  flirt  with  him  while  her  marriage- 
[ 302  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


settlements  with  the  step-father  were  being  drawn  up. 
Some  people  said  the  young  man  did  it  on  purpose.  You 
can  fancy  the  scandal:  there  was  an  awful  row  between 
the  men,  and  people  began  to  look  at  Lily  so  queerly 
that  Mrs.  Peniston  had  to  pack  up  and  finish  her  cure 
elsewhere.  Not  that  she  ever  understood:  to  this  day  she 
thinks  that  Aix  did  n’t  suit  her,  and  mentions  her  having 
been  sent  there  as  proof  of  the  incompetence  of  French 
doctors.  That ’s  Lily  all  over,  you  know : she  works  like 
a slave  preparing  the  ground  and  sowing  her  seed;  but 
the  day  she  ought  to  be  reaping  the  harvest  she  over- 
sleeps herself  or  goes  off  on  a picnic.” 

Mrs.  Fisher  paused  and  looked  reflectively  at  the  deep 
shimmer  of  sea  between  the  cactus-flowers.  “Sometimes,” 
she  added,  “I  think  it’s  just  flightiness — and  sometimes 
I think  it ’s  because,  at  heart,  she  despises  the  things  ' 
she ’s  trying  for.  And  it ’s  the  difficulty  of  deciding  that  : 
makes  her  such  an  interesting  study.”  She  glanced  tenta- 
tively at  Selden’s  motionless  profile,  and  resumed  with  a 
slight  sigh:  “Well,  all  I can  say  is,  I wish  she’d  give 
me  some  of  her  discarded  opportunities.  I wish  we  could 
change  places  now,  for  instance.  She  could  make  a very 
good  thing  out  of  the  Brys  if  she  managed  them  pro- 
perly, and  I should  know  just  how  to  look  after  George 
Dorset  while  Bertha  is  reading  Verlaine  with  Neddy 
Silverton.” 

She  met  Selden’s  sound  of  protest  with  a sharp  deri- 

[ 303  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


sive  glance,  “Well,  what’s  the  use  of  mincing  matters? 
We  all  know  that’s  what  Bertha  brought  her  abroad 
for.  When  Bertha  wants  to  have  a good  time  she  has  to 
provide  occupation  for  George.  At  first  I thought  Lily 
was  going  to  play  her  cards  well  this  time,  but  there  are 
rumours  that  Bertha  is  jealous  of  her  success  here  and 
at  Cannes,  and  I should  n’t  be  surprised  if  there  were  a 
break  any  day.  Lily’s  only  safeguard  is  that  Bertha  needs 
her  badly — oh,  very  badly.  The  Silverton  affair  is  in  the 
acute  stage:  it’s  necessary  that  George’s  attention  should 
be  pretty  continuously  distracted.  And  I ’m  bound  to  say 
Lily  does  distract  it : I believe  he ’d  marry  her  tomoirow 
if  he  found  out  there  was  anything  vTong  with  Bertha. 
But  you  know  him — he’s  as  blind  as  he’s  jealous;  and 
of  course  Lily’s  present  business  is  to  keep  him  blind.  A 
clever  woman  might  know  just  the  right  moment  to  tear 
off  the  bandage : but  Lily  is  n’t  clever  in  that  way,  and 
when  George  does  open  his  eyes  she  ’ll  probably  contrive 
not  to  be  in  his  line  of  vision.” 

Selden  tossed  away  his  cigarette,  “By  Jove — it’s  time 
for  my  train,”  he  exclaimed,  with  a glance  at  his  watch; 
adding,  in  reply  to  Mrs.  Fishers  surprised  comment — 
“"Why,  I thought  of  course  you  were  at  Monte!” — a 
murmured  word  to  the  effect  that  he  was  making  Nice 
his  head-quarters. 

“The  worst  of  it  is,  she  snubs  the  Brys  now,”  he  heard 
irrelevantly  flung  after  him. 

[ 304-  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Ten  minutes  later,  in  the  high-perched  bedroom  of  an 
hotel  overlooking  the  Casino,  he  was  tossing  his  effects 
into  a couple  of  gaping  portmanteaux,  while  the  porter 
waited  outside  to  transport  them  to  the  cab  at  the  door. 
It  took  but  a brief  plunge  down  the  steep  white  road  to 
the  station  to  land  him  safely  in  the  afternoon  express 
for  Nice;  and  not  till  he  was  installed  in  the  corner  of 
an  empty  carriage,  did  he  exclaim  to  himself,  with  a re- 
action of  self-contempt:  “What  the  deuce  am  I ininning 
away  from?” 

The  pertinence  of  the  question  checked  Selden’s  fugi- 
tive impulse  before  the  train  had  started.  It  was  ridicu- 
lous to  be  flying  like  an  emotional  coward  from  an  in- 
fatuation his  reason  had  conquered.  He  had  instructed 
his  bankers  to  forward  some  important  business  letters 
to  Nice,  and  at  Nice  he  would  quietly  await  them.  He 
was  already  annoyed  with  himself  for  having  left  Monte 
Carlo,  where  he  had  intended  to  pass  the  week  which  re- 
mained to  him  before  sailing;  but  it  would  now  be  diffi- 
cult to  return  on  his  steps  without  an  appearance  of  in- 
consistency from  which  his  pride  recoiled.  In  his  inmost 
heart  he  was  not  sorry  to  put  himself  beyond  the  pi’ob- 
ability  of  meeting  Miss  Bart.  Completely  as  he  had  de- 
tached himself  from  her,  he  could  not  yet  regard  her 
merely  as  a social  instance;  and  viewed  in  a more  per- 
sonal way  she  was  not  likely  to  be  a reassuring  object  of 
study.  Chance  encounters,  or  even  the  repeated  mention 

[ 30S  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


of  her  name,  would  send  his  thoughts  back  into  grooves 
from  which  he  had  resolutely  detached  them ; whereas,  if 
she  could  be  entirely  excluded  from  his  life,  the  pressure 
of  new  and  varied  impressions,  with  which  no  thought 
of  her  was  connected,  would  soon  complete  the  work  of 
separation.  Mrs.  Fisher’s  conversation  had,  indeed,  oper- 
ated to  that  end;  but  the  treatment  was  too  painful  to 
be  voluntarily  chosen  while  milder  remedies  were  untried; 
and  Selden  thought  he  could  tinist  himself  to  return  grad- 
ually to  a reasonable  view  of  Miss  Bart,  if  only  he  did 
not  see  her. 

Having  reached  the  station  early,  he  had  arrived  at 
this  point  in  his  reflections  before  the  increasing  throng 
on  the  platform  warned  him  that  he  coidd  not  hope  to 
preserve  his  privacy;  the  next  moment  there  was  a hand 
on  the  door,  and  he  turned  to  confront  the  very  face  he 
was  fleeing. 

Miss  Bart,  glowing  with  the  haste  of  a precipitate  de- 
scent upon  the  train,  headed  a group  composed  of  the 
Dorsets,  young  Silverton  and  Lord  Hubert  Dacey,  who 
had  barely  time  to  spring  into  the  carriage,  and  envelop 
Selden  in  ejacMations  of  surprise  and  welcome,  before  the 
whistle  of  departure  sounded.  The  party,  it  appeared, 
were  hastening  to  Nice  in  response  to  a sudden  summons 
to  dine  with  the  Duchess  of  Beltshire  and  to  see  the 
water-fete  in  the  bay;  a plan  eridently  improrised — in 
spite  of  Lord  Hubert’s  protesting  “Oh,  I say,  you  know," 
[ S06  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


— for  the  expi’ess  purpose  of  defeating  Mrs.  Brj’s  en 
deavour  to  capture  the  Duchess. 

During  the  laughing  relation  of  this  manoeuvre,  Sei- 
den  had  time  for  a rapid  impression  of  Miss  Bart,  who 
had  seated  herself  opposite  to  him  in  the  golden  after- 
noon light.  Scarcely  three  months  had  elapsed  since  he 
had  parted  from  her  on  the  threshold  of  the  Brys’  con- 
servatory; but  a subtle  change  had  passed  over  the 
quality  of  her  beauty.  Then  it  had  had  a transparency 
through  which  the  fluctuations  of  the  spirit  were  some- 
times tragically  visible;  now  its  impenetrable  surface  sug- 
gested a process  of  crystallization  which  had  fused  her 
whole  being  into  one  hard  brilliant  substance.  The  change 
had  struck  Mrs.  Fisher  as  a rejuvenation;  to  Selden  it 
seemed  like  that  moment  of  pause  and  arrest  when  the 
warm  fluidity  of  youth  is  chilled  into  its  final  shape. 

He  felt  it  in  the  way  she  smiled  on  him,  and  in  the 
readiness  and  competence  with  which,  flung  unexpect- 
edly into  his  presence,  she  took  up  the  thread  of  their 
intercourse  as  though  that  thread  had  not  been  snapped 
with  a violence  from  which  he  still  reeled.  Such  facility 
sickened  him — but  he  told  himself  that  it  was  with  the 
]3ang  which  precedes  recovery.  Now  he  would  really  get 
yell — would  eject  the  last  drop  of  poison  from  his  blood. 
iMready  he  felt  himself  calmer  in  her  presence  than  he 
had  learned  to  be  in  the  thought  of  her.  Her  assump- 
tiions  and  elisions,  her  short-cuts  and  long  detourSy  the 
f 307  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


skiU  with  which  she  contrived  to  meet  him  at  a point 
from  which  no  inconvenient  glimpses  of  the  past  were 
visible,  suggested  what  opportunities  she  had  had  for 
practising  such  arts  since  their  last  meeting.  He  felt  that 
she  had  at  last  arrived  at  an  understanding  with  herself: 
had  made  a pact  with  her  rebellious  impulses,  and 
achieved  a uniform  system  of  self-government,  un^il|| 
which  all  vagrant  tendencies  were  either  held  captive  or 
forced  into  the  service  of  the  state. 

And  he  saw  other  things  too  in  her  manner:  saw  how 
it  had  adjusted  itself  to  the  hidden  intricacies  of  a situa- 
tion in  which,  even  after  Mrs.  Fishers  elucidating  flashes, 
he  still  felt  himself  agrope.  Surely  IMrs.  Fisher  could  no 
longer  charge  Miss  Bart  with  neglecting  her  opportuni- 
ties! To  Selden’s  exasperated  observation  she  was  only 
too  completely  alive  to  them.  She  w^as  “perfect”  to  every 
one:  subservient  to  Bertha’s  anxious  predominance,  good- 
naturedly  watchful  of  Dorset’s  moods,  brightly  compan- 
ionable to  Silverton  and  Dacey,  the  latter  of  whom  met 
her  on  an  evident  footing  of  old  admiration,  while  young 
Silverton,  portentously  self-absorbed,  seemed  conscious 
of  her  only  as  of  something  vaguely  obstructive.  And 
suddenly,  as  Selden  noted  the  fine  shades  of  manner  by 
which  she  harmonized  herself  with  her  sun’oundings,  it 
flashed  on  him  that,  to  need  such  adroit  handling,  the 
situation  must  indeed  be  desperate.  She  was  on  the  edge 
of  something — that  was  the  impression  left  with  him 
[ 308  ] 


rHE  HOUSE  OE  MIRTH 


He  seemed  to  see  her  poised  on  the  brink  of  a chasm, 
with  one  graceful  foot  advanced  to  assert  her  uncon' 
sciousness  that  the  ground  was  failing  her. 

On  the  Promenade  des  Anglais,  where  Ned  Silvertoa 
hung  on  him  for  the  half  hour  before  dinner,  he  received 
a deeper  impression  of  the  general  insecurity.  Silverton 
a mood  of  Titanic  pessimism.  How  any  one  could 
come  to  such  a damned  hole  as  the  Riviera — any  one 
with  a grain  of  imagination — -with  the  whole  Mediter 
ranean  to  choose  from:  but  then,  if  one’s  estimate  of  a 
place  depended  on  the  way  they  broiled  a spring  chicken ! 
Gad!  what  a study  might  be  made  of  the  tyranny  of  the 
stomach — the  way  a sluggish  liver  or  insufficient  gastric 
juices  might  affect  the  whole  course  of  the  universe,  over- 
shadow everything  in  reach — chronic  dyspepsia  ought 
to  be  among  the  “statutory  causes”;  a woman’s  life 
might  be  ruined  by  a man’s  inability  to  digest  fresh 
bread.  Grotesque?  Yes — and  tragic — like  most  absurd- 
ities. There’s  nothing  grimmer  than  the  tragedy  that 
wears  a comic  mask.  . . . Where  was  he?  Oh — the  rea- 
son they  chucked  Sicily  and  nashed  back?  Well — partly, 
no  doubt,  Miss  Bart’s  desire  to  get  back  to  bridge  and 
smartness.  Dead  as  a stone  to  art  and  poetry—  the  light 
never  was  on  sea  or  land  for  her ! And  of  course  she  per- 
suaded Dorset  that  the  Italian  food  was  bad  for  him. 
Oh,  she  could  make  him  believe  anything — anything! 
Mrs.  Dorset  was  aware  of  it — oh,  perfectly:  nothing  she 
[ 309  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


didn’t  see!  But  she  could  hold  her  tongue — she’d  had 
to,  often  enough.  Miss  Bart  was  an  intimate  friend  — she 
wouldn’t  hear  a word  against  her.  Only  it  hurts  a wo- 
man’s pride— there  are  some  things  one  doesn’t  get  used 
to  . . . All  this  in  confidence,  of  course.?  Ah — and  there* 
were  the  ladies  signalling  from  the  balcony  of  the 
. . . He  plunged  across  the  Promenade,  leaving 
to  a meditative  cigar. 

The  conclusions  it  led  him  to  were  fortified,  later  in 
the  evening,  by  some  of  those  faint  corroborative  hints 
that  generate  a light  of  their  own  in  the  dusk  of  a doubt- 
ing mind.  Selden,  stumbling  on  a chance  acquaintance, 
had  dined  with  him,  and  adjourned,  still  in  his  company, 
to  the  brightly  lit  Promenade,  where  a line  of  crowded 
stands  commanded  the  glittering  darkness  of  the  waters. 
The  night  was  soft  and  persuasive.  Overhead  hung  a sum- 
mer sky  furrowed  with  the  rush  of  rockets ; and  from  the 
east  a late  moon,  pushing  up  beyond  the  lofty  bend  of 
the  coast,  sent  across  the  bay  a shaft  of  brightness  which 
paled  to  ashes  in  the  red  glitter  of  the  illuminated  boats. 
Down  the  lantern-hung  Promenade,  snatches  of  band- 
music  floated  above  the  hum  of  the  crowd  and  the  soft 
tossing  of  boughs  in  dusky  gardens;  and  between  these 
gardens  and  the  backs  of  the  stands  there  flowed  a stream 
of  people  in  whom  the  vociferous  carnival  mood  seemed 
tempered  by  the  growing  languor  of  the  season. 

Selden  and  his  companion,  unable  to  get  seats  on  one 

[ 310  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


of  the  stands  facing  the  bay,  had  wandered  for  a while 
with  the  throng,  and  then  found  a point  of  vantage  on 
a high  garden-parapet  above  the  Promenade.  Thence 
they  caught  but  a triangular  glimpse  of  the  water,  and 
of  the  flashing  play  of  boats  across  its  surface;  but  the 
crowd  in  the  street  was  under  their  immediate  view,  and 
5j[jjpflrto  Selden,  on  the  whole,  of  more  interest  than 
the  show  itself.  After  a while,  however,  he  wearied  of 
his  perch  and,  dropping  alone  to  the  pavement,  pushed 
his  way  to  the  first  corner  and  turped  into  the  moonlit 
silence  of  a side  street.  Long  garden-walls  overhung  by 
trees  made  a dark  boundary  to  the  pavement;  an  empty 
cab  trailed  along  the  deserted  thoroughfare,  and  pres- 
ently Selden  saw  two  persons  emerge  from  the  opposite 
shadows,  signal  to  the  cab,  and  drive  off  in  it  toward 
the  centre  of  the  town.  The  moonlight  touched  them  as 
they  paused  to  enter  the  carriage,  and  he  recognized 
Mrs.  Dorset  and  young  Silverton. 

Beneath  the  nearest  lamp-post  he  glanced  at  his  watch 
and  saw  that  the  time  was  close  on  eleven.  He  took  an- 
other cross  street,  and  without  breasting  the  throng  on 
the  Promenade,  made  his  way  to  the  fashionable  club 
which  overlooks  that  thoroughfare.  Here,  amid  the  blaze 
of  crowded  baccarat  tables,  he  caught  sight  of  Lord 
Hubert  Dacey,  seated  with  his  habitual  worn  smile  be- 
hind a rapidly  dwindling  heap  of  gold.  The  heap  being 
in  due  course  wiped  out.  Lord  Hubert  rose  with  a shrug, 

[ 311  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  joining  Selden,  adjourned  with  him  to  the  deserted 
terrace  of  the  club.  It  was  now  past  midnight,  and  the 
throng  on  the  stands  was  dispersing,  while  the  long  trails 
of  red-lit  boats  scattered  and  faded  beneath  a sky  re- 
possessed by  the  tranquil  splendour  of  the  moon. 

Lord  Hubert  looked  athis  watch.  “By  Jove, I promised 
to  join  the  Duchess  for  supper  at  the  London 
but  it ’s  past  twelve,  and  I suppose  they ’ve  all  scattered. 
The  fact  is,  I lost  them  in  the  crowd  soon  after  dinner, 
and  took  refuge  here,  for  my  sins.  They  had  seats  on  one 
of  the  stands,  but  of  course  they  could  n’t  stop  quiet : 
the  Duchess  never  can.  She  and  Miss  Bart  went  off  in 
quest  of  what  they  call  adventures — gad,  it  ain’t  their 
fault  if  they  don’t  have  some  queer  ones!”  He  added 
tentatively,  after  pausing  to  grope  for  a cigarette:  “Miss 
Bart ’s  an  old  friend  of  yours,  I believe  ? So  she  told  me. 
— Ah,  thanks — I don’t  seem  to  have  one  left.”  He  lit 
Selden’s  proffered  cigarette,  and  continued,  in  his  high- 
pitched  drawling  tone:  “None  of  my  business,  of  course, 
but  I didn’t  introduce  her  to  the  Duchess.  Channing 
woman,  the  Duchess,  you  undei’stand;  and  a yery  good 
fi'iend  of  mine;  but  rather  a liberal  education.” 

Selden  received  this  in  silence,  and  after  a few  puffs 
Lord  Hubert  broke  out  again:  “Sort  of  thing  one  can’t 
communicate  to  the  young  lady — though  young  ladies 
nowadays  are  so  competent  to  judge  for  themselves ; but 
in  this  case — I ’m  an  old  fiiend  too,  you  know  . . . and 
[ 312  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


there  seemed  no  one  else  to  speak  to.  The  whole  situa- 
tion ’s  a little  mixed,  as  I see  it — but  there  used  to  be 
an  aunt  somewhere,  a diffuse  and  innocent  person,  who 
was  great  at  bridging  over  chasms  she  didn’t  see  . . . 
Ah,  in  New  York,  is  she.?’  Pity  New  York’s  such  a long 
way  off!” 

•# 

II 

MISS  Bart,  emerging  late  the  next  morning  from 
her  cabin,  found  herself  alone  on  the  deck  of 
the  Sabrina. 

The  cushioned  chaii’s,  disposed  expectantly  under  the 
wide  awning,  showed  no  signs  of  recent  occupancy,  and 
she  presently  learned  from  a steward  that  Mrs.  Dorset 
had  not  yet  appeared,  and  that  the  gentlemen — sepa- 
rately— had  gone  ashore  as  soon  as  they  had  break- 
fasted. Supplied  with  these  facts,  Lily  leaned  awhile  over 
the  side,  giving  herself  up  to  a leisurely  enjoyment  of 
the  spectacle  before  her.  Unclouded  sunlight  enveloped 
sea  and  shore  in  a bath  of  purest  radiancy.  The  pur- 
pling waters  drew  a sharp  white  line  of  foam  at  the  base 
of  the  shore;  against  its  irregular  eminences,  hotels  and 
villas  flashed  from  the  greyish  verdure  of  olive  and  eu- 
calyptus; and  the  background  of  bare  and  finely-pen- 
cilled mountains  quivered  in  a pale  intensity  of  light. 

How  beautiful  it  was — and  how  she  loved  beauty! 
She  had  always  felt  that  her  sensibility  in  this  direction 

t 313  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


made  up  for  certain  obtusenesses  of  feeling  of  which  she 
was  less  proud;  and  during  the  last  three  months  she 
had  indulged  it  passionately.  The  Dorsets’  invitation  to 
go  abroad  with  them  had  come  as  an  almost  miraculous 
release  from  crushing  difficulties;  and  her  faculty  for 
renewing  herself  in  new  scenes,  and  casting  off  problems 
of  conduct  as  easily  as  the  suiToundings  in  which  they 
had  arisen,  made  the  mere  change  from  one  place  to  an- 
other seem,  not  merely  a postponement,  but  a solution 
of  her  troubles.  Moral  complications  existed  for  her  only 
in  the  environment  that  had  produced  them;  she  did  not 
mean  to  slight  or  ignore  them,  but  they  lost  their  real- 
ity when  they  changed  their  backgi’ound.  She  could  not 
have  remained  in  New  York  without  repaying  the  money 
she  owed  to  Trenor;  to  acquit  herself  of  that  odious 
debt  she  might  even  have  faced  a marriage  with  Rose- 
dale;  but  the  accident  of  placing  the  Atlantic  between 
herself  and  her  obligations  made  them  dwindle  out  of 
sight  as  if  they  had  been  milestones  and  she  had  trav- 
elled past  them. 

Her  two  months  on  the  Sabrina  had  been  especially 
calculated  to  aid  this  illusion  of  distance.  She  had  been 
plunged  into  new  scenes,  and  had  found  in  them  a re- 
newal of  old  hopes  and  ambitions.  The  cruise  itself 
charmed  her  as  a romantic  adventure.  She  was  vaguely 
touched  by  the  names  and  scenes  amid  which  she  moved, 
and  had  listened  to  Ned  Silverton  reading  Theocritus 
[ 314  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


by  moonlight,  as  the  yacht  rounded  tine  Sicilian  pro- 
montories, with  a thrill  of  the  nerves  that  confirmed  her 
belief  in  her  intellectual  superiority.  But  the  weeks  at 
Cannes  and  Nice  had  really  give^n  her  more  pleasure. 
The  gratification  of  being  welcomed  in  high  company, 
and  of  making  her  own  ascendency  felt  there,  so  that 
she  found  herself  figuring  once  more  as  the  “beautiful 
Miss  Bart”  in  the  int/eresting  journal  devoted  to  record- 
ing the  least  movements  of  her  cosmopolitan  compan- 
ions— all  these  experiences  tended  to  throw  into  the 
extreme  background  of  memory  the  prosaic  and  sordid 
difficulties  from  which  she  had  escaped. 

If  she  was  faintly  aware  of  fresh  difficulties  ahead, 
she  was  sure  of  her  ability  to  meet  them:  it  was  charac- 
teristic of  lier  to  feel  that  the  only  problems  she  could 
not  solve  were  those  with  which  she  was  famihar.  Mean- 
while she  could  honestly  be  proud  of  the  skill  with  which 
she  had  adapted  herself  to  somewhat  delicate  conditions. 
She  had  reason  to  think  that  she  had  made  herself 
equally  necessary  to  her  host  and  hostess;  and  if  only 
she  had  seen  any  perfectly  in’eproachable  means  of  draw- 
ing a financial  profit  from  the  situation,  there  would 
have  been  no  cloud  on  her  horizon.  The  truth  was  that 
her  funds,  as  usual,  were  inconveniently  low;  and  to 
neither  Dorset  nor  his  wife  could  this  vulgar  embaiTass- 
ment  be  safely  hinted.  Still,  the  need  was  not  a pressing 
one;  she  could  worry  along,  as  she  had  so  often  done 
[ S15  1 


TH.E  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


before,  with  the  hope  of  some  happy  change  of  fortune 
to  sustain  her;  and  meanwhile  life  was  gay  and  beauti- 
ful and  easy,  and  she  was  conscious  of  figuring  not  un- 
worthily in  such  a setting:. 

She  was  engaged  to  breakfast  that  morning  with  the 
Duchess  of  Beltshire,  and  at  twelve  o’clock  she  asked  to 
be  set  ashore  in  the  gig.  Before  this  she  had  sent  her 
maid  to  enquire  if  she  might  see  Mrs.  Dorset;  but  the 
reply  came  back  that  the  latter  was  tii’ed,  and  trjdng  to 
sleep.  Lily  thought  she  understood  thv?  reason  of  the 
rebuff.  Her  hostess  had  not  been  included  in  the  Duch- 
ess’s invitation,  though  she  herself  had  made  the  most 
loyal  efforts  in  that  direction.  But  her  grace'  was  imper- 
vious to  hints,  and  invited  or  omitted  as  she  chose.  It 
was  not  Lily’s  fault  if  Mrs.  Dorset’s  complicfvted  atti- 
tudes did  not  fall  in  wdth  the  Duchess’s  easy  gait.  The 
Duchess,  who  seldom  explained  hereelf,  had  not  formu- 
lated her  objection  beyond  saying:  “She’s  rather  a bore, 
you  know.  The  only  one  of  your  friends  I like  is  that 
little  Mr.  Bry — he"‘s  funny — ” but  Lily  knew  enough 
not  to  press  the  point,  and  was  not  altogether  soiTy  to 
be  thus  distinguished  at  her  friend’s  expense.  Bertha 
certainly  had  grown  tiresome  since  she  had  taken  to 
poetry  and  Ned  Silverton. 

On  the  whole,  it  was  a relief  to  break  away  now  and 
then  from  the  Sabrina;  and  the  Duchess's  little  break- 
fest.  organized  by  Lord  Hubert  with  all  his  usual  \'ii-- 

[ 316  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


tuosity,  was  the  pleasanter  to  Lily  for  not  including  her 
travelling-companions.  Dorset,  of  late,  had  grown  more 
than  usually  morose  and  incalculable,  and  Ned  Silverton 
went  about  with  an  air  that  seemed  to  challenge  the 
universe.  The  freedom  and  lightness  of  the  ducal  inter- 
course made  an  agreeable  change  from  these  complica- 
tions, and  Lily  was  tempted,  after  luncheon,  to  adjourn 
in  the  wake  of  her  companions  to  the  hectic  atmosphere 
of  the  Casino.  She  did  not  mean  to  play ; her  diminished 
pocket-money  offered  small  scope  for  the  adventure ; but 
it  amused  her  to  sit  on  a divan,  under  the  doubtful  pro- 
tection of  the  Duchess’s  back,  while  the  latter  hung 
above  her  stakes  at  a neighbouring  table. 

The  rooms  were  packed  with  the  gazing  throng  which, 
in  the  afternoon  hours,  trickles  heavily  between  the  tables, 
like  the  Sunday  crowd  in  a lion-house.  In  the  stagnant 
flow  of  the  mass,  identities  were  hardly  distinguishable; 
but  Lily  presently  saw  Mrs.  Bry  cleaving  her  determined 
way  through  the  doors,  and,  in  the  broad  wake  she  left, 
the  light  figure  of  Mrs.  Fisher  bobbing  after  her  like  a 
row-boat  at  the  stern  of  a tug.  Mrs.  Bry  pressed  on,  evi- 
dently animated  by  the  resolve  to  reach  a certain  point 
in  the  rooms ; but  Mrs.  Fisher,  as  she  passed  Lily,  broke 
from  her  towing-line,  and  let  herself  float  to  the  girl’s 
side. 

“Lose  her.?”  she  echoed  the  latter’s  query,  with  an 
indifferent  glance  at  Mrs.  Bry’s  retreating  back.  “I  dare- 
[ 317  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


say — it  doesn’t  matter:  I have  lost  her  already.”  And, 
as  Lily  exclaimed,  she  added:  “We  had  an  awful  row 
this  morning.  You  know,  of  course,  that  the  Duchess 
chucked  her  at  dinner  last  night,  and  she  thinks  it  was 
my  faiilt — my  want  of  management.  The  worst  of  it  is, 
the  message — just  a mere  word  by  telephone — came  so 
late  that  the  dinner  had  to  be  paid  for;  and  Becassin 
had  run  it  up — it  had  been  so  drummed  into  him  that 
the  Duchess  was  coming!”  IVIrs.  Fisher  indulged  in  a faint 
laugh  at  the  remembrance.  “Paying  for  what  she  does  n’t 
get  rankles  so  dreadfully  with  Louisa:  I can’t  make  her 
see  that  it ’s  one  of  the  preliminary  steps  to  getting  what 
you  have  n’t  paid  for — and  as  I was  the  nearest  thing  to 
smash,  she  smashed  me  to  atoms,  poor  dear!” 

Lily  murmured  her  commiseration.  Impulses  of  sym- 
pathy came  naturally  to  her,  and  it  was  instinctive  to 
proffer  her  help  to  Mrs.  Fisher. 

“If  there ’s  anything  I can  do — if  it ’s  only  a question 
of  meeting  the  Duchess!  I heard  her  say  she  thought 
Mr.  Bry  amusing ” 

But  Mrs.  Fisher  interposed  with  a decisive  gesture. 
“My  dear,  I have  my  pride:  the  pride  of  my  trade.  1 
could  n’t  manage  the  Duchess,  and  I can’t  palm  off  your 
arts  on  Louisa  Bry  as  mine.  I’ve  taken  the  final  step:  I 
go  to  Paris  tonight  with  the  Sam  Goriners.  They  're  still 
in  the  elementary  stage ; an  Italian  Prince  is  a great  deal 
more  than  a Prince  to  them,  and  they  ’re  always  on  the 
[ 318  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


brink  of  taking  a courier  for  one.  To  save  them  from 
that  is  my  present  mission.”  She  laughed  again  at  the 
picture.  “But  before  I go  I want  to  make  my  last  will 
and  testament — I want  to  leave  you  the  Brys.” 

“Me.?”  Miss  Bart  joined  in  her  amusement.  “It’s 
charming  of  you  to  remember  me,  dear;  but  really ” 

“You’re  already  so  well  provided  for.?”  Mrs.  Fisher 
flashed  a sharp  glance  at  her.  ‘■‘'Are  you,  though,  Lily — 
to  the  point  of  rejecting  my  offer.?” 

Miss  Bart  coloured  slowly.  “What  I really  meant  was, 
that  the  Brys  wouldn’t  in  the  least  care  to  be  so  dis- 
posed of.” 

Mrs.  Fisher  continued  to  probe  her  embarrassment 
with  an  unflinching  eye.  “What  you  really  meant  was 
that  you’ve  snubbed  the  Brys  horribly;  and  you  know 
that  they  know  it ” 

“Carry!” 

“Oh,  on  certain  sides  Louisa  bristles  with  perceptions. 
If  you ’d  even  managed  to  have  them  asked  once  on  the 
Sabrina — especially  when  royalties  were  coming!  But  it’s 
not  too  late,”  she  ended  earnestly, “it’s  not  too  late  for 
either  of  you.” 

Lily  smiled.  “Stay  over,  and  I’ll  get  the  Duchess  to 
dine  with  them.” 

“I  shan’t  stay  over — the  Gormers  have  paid  for  my 
salon-lit”  ssaA  Mrs.  Fisher  with  simplicity.  “But  get  the 
Duchess  to  dine  with  them  all  the  same.” 

[ 319  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lily’s  smile  again  flowed  into  a slight  laugh;  her 
friend’s  importunity  was  beginning  to  strike  her  as  ir- 
relevant. “I ’m  sorry  I have  been  negligent  about  the 
Brys- — —’’she  began. 

“Oh,  as  to  the  Brys — it’s  you  I’m  thinking  of,”  said 
Mrs.  Fisher  abruptly.  She  paused,  and  then,  bending 
forward,  with  a lowered  voice:  “You  know  we  all  went 
on  to  Nice  last  night  when  the  Duchess  chucked  us.  It 
was  Louisa’s  idea — I told  her  what  I thought  of  it.” 

Miss  Bart  assented.  “Yes — I caught  sight  of  you  on 
the  way  back,  at  the  station.” 

“Well,  the  man  who  was  in  the  carnage  with  you  and 
George  Dorset — that  horrid  little  Dabham  who  does 
‘Society  Notes  from  the  Riviera’ — had  been  dining  with 
us  at  Nice.  And  he’s  telling  everybody  that  you  and 
Dorset  came  back  alone  after  midnight.” 

“Alone — ? MTien  he  was  with  us.^”  Lily  laughed,  but 
her  laugh  faded  into  gravity  under  the  prolonged  impli- 
cation of  Mrs.  Fisher’s  look.  “We  did  come  back  alone 
— if  that’s  so  very  dreadful!  But  whose  fault  was  it.^* 
The  Duchess  was  spending  the  night  at  Cimiez  with  the 
Crown  Princess;  Bertha  got  bored  with  the  show,  and 
went  off  early,  promising  to  meet  us  at  the  station.  AVe 
turned  up  on  time,  but  she  didn’t — she  didn’t  turn  up 
at  all!” 

Miss  Bart  made  this  announcement  in  the  tone  of  one 
who  presents,  with  careless  assurance,  a complete  vindi- 
[ 320  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


cation;  but  Mrs.  Fisher  received  it  in  a manner  almost 
inconsequent.  She  seemed  to  have  lost  sight  of  her  friend’s 
part  in  the  incident:  her  inward  vision  had  taken  an- 
other slant. 

“Bertha  never  turned  up  at  all.?  Then  how  on  earth 
did  she  get  back.?” 

“Oh,  by  the  next  train,  I suppose;  there  were  two  ex- 
tra ones  for  the  fete.  At  any  rate,  I know  she ’s  safe  on 
the  yacht,  though  I have  n’t  yet  seen  her;  but  you  see  it 
was  not  my  fault,”  Lily  summed  up. 

“Not  your  fault  that  Bertha  didn’t  turn  up.?  My  poor 
child,  if  only  you  don’t  have  to  pay  for  it!”  Mrs.  Fisher 
rose — she  had  seen  Mrs.  Bry  surging  back  in  her  direc- 
tion. “There’s  Louisa,  and  I must  be  off — oh,  we’re  on 
the  best  of  terms  externally;  we’re  lunching  together; 
but  at  heart  it’s  me  she’s  lunching  on,”  she  explained; 
and  with  a last  hand-clasp  and  a last  look,  she  added: 
“Remember,  I leave  her  to  you;  she’s  hovering  now, 
ready  to  take  you  in.” 

Lily  carried  the  impression  of  Mrs.  Fisher’s  leave-taking 
away  with  her  from  the  Casino  doors.  She  had  accom- 
plished, before  leaving,  the  first  step  toward  her  rein- 
statement in  Mrs.  Bry’s  good  graces.  An  affable  advance 
— a vague  murmur  that  they  must  see  more  of  each 
other — an  allusive  glance  to  a near  future  that  was  felt 
to  include  the  Duchess  as  well  as  the  Sabrina — bow 
I 821  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


easily  it  was  all  done,  if  one  possessed  the  knack  of  doing 
it ! She  wondered  at  herself,  as  she  had  so  often  wondered, 
that,  possessing  the  knack,  she  did  not  more  consistently 
exercise  it.  But  sometimes  she  was  forgetful — and  some- 
times, could  it  be  that  she  was  proud  Today,  at  any 
rate,  she  had  been  vaguely  conscious  of  a reason  for  sink- 
ing her  pride,  had  in  fact  even  sunk  it  to  the  point  of 
suggesting  to  Lord  Hubert  Dacey,  whom  she  ran  across 
on  the  Casino  steps,  that  he  might  really  get  the  Duch- 
ess to  dine  with  the  Brys,  if  she  undertook  to  have  them 
asked  on  the  Sabrina.  Lord  Hubert  had  promised  his 
help,  with  the  readiness  on  which  she  could  always  count: 
it  was  his  only  way  of  ever  reminding  her  that  he  had 
once  been  ready  to  do  so  much  more  for  her.  Her  path, 
in  short,  seemed  to  smooth  itself  before  her  as  she  ad- 
vanced; yet  the  faint  stir  of  uneasiness  persisted.  Had 
it  been  produced,  she  wondered,  by  her  chance  meeting 
with  Selden?  She  thought  not — time  and  change  seemed 
so  completely  to  have  relegated  him  to  his  proper  dis- 
tance. The  sudden  and  exquisite  reaction  from  her  anxi- 
eties had  had  the  effect  of  throwing  the  recent  past  so  far 
back  that  even  Selden,  as  part  of  it,  retained  a certain 
air  of  unreality.  And  he  had  made  it  so  clear  that  they 
were  not  to  meet  again;  that  he  had  merely  dropped 
doAvn  to  Nice  for  a day  or  two,  and  had  almost  his  foot 
on  the  next  steamer.  No — that  part  of  the  past  had 
merely  surged  up  for  a moment  on  the  fleeing  surface  of 
[ 822  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


events;  and  now  that  it  was  submerged  again,  the  un* 
certainty,  the  apprehension  persisted. 

They  grew  to  sudden  acuteness  as  she  caught  sight  of 
George  Dorset  descending  the  steps  of  the  Hotel  de  Paris 
and  making  for  her  across  the  square.  She  had  meant  to 
drive  down  to  the  quay  and  regain  the  yacht;  but  she 
now  had  the  immediate  impression  that  something  more 
was  to  happen  first. 

“Which  way  are  you  going?  Shall  we  walk  a bit?”  he 
began,  putting  the  second  question  before  the  first  was 
answered,  and  not  waiting  for  a reply  to  either  before 
he  directed  her  silently  toward  the  comparative  seclusion 
of  the  lower  gardens. 

She  detected  in  him  at  once  all  the  signs  of  extreme 
nervous  tension.  The  skin  was  puffed  out  under  his  sunken 
eyes,  and  its  sallowness  had  paled  to  a leaden  white 
against  which  his  irregular  eyebrows  and  long  reddish 
moustache  were  relieved  with  a saturnine  effect.  His  ap- 
pearance, in  short,  presented  an  odd  mixture  of  the  be- 
draggled  and  the  ferocious. 

He  walked  beside  her  in  silence,  with  quick  precipi- 
tate steps,  till  they  reached  the  embowered  slopes  to  the 
east  of  the  Casino;  then,  pulling  up  abruptly,  he  said; 
“Have  you  seen  Bertha?” 

“No — when  I left  the  yacht  she  was  not  yet  up.” 

He  received  this  with  a laugh  like  the  whining  sound 
in  a disabled  clock.  “Not  yet  up?  Had  she  gone  to  bed? 
[ 323  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Do  you  know  at  what  time  she  came  on  board?  This 
morning  at  seven!”  he  exclaimed. 

“At  seven?”  Lily  started.  “What  happened — an  ac- 
cident to  the  train  ?” 

He  laughed  again.  “They  missed  the  train — all  the 
trains — they  had  to  drive  back.” 

“Well ?”  She  hesitated,  feeling  at  once  how  little 

even  this  necessity  accounted  for  the  fatal  lapse  of  hours. 

“Well,  they  couldn’t  get  a carriage  at  once — at  that 
time  of  night,  you  know — ” the  explanatory  note  made 
it  almost  seem  as  though  he  were  putting  the  case  for 
his  wife — “and  when  they  finally  did,  it  was  only  a 
one-horse  cab,  and  the  horse  was  lame!” 

“How  tiresome!  I see,”  she  affirmed,  wdth  the  more 
earnestness  because  she  was  so  nervously  conscious  that 
she  did  not;  and  after  a pause  she  added:  “I’m  so  sorr}" 
— but  ought  we  to  have  waited?” 

“Waited  for  the  one-hoi’se  cab?  It  would  scarcely  have 
caiTied  the  four  of  us,  do  you  think?” 

She  took  this  in  what  seemed  the  only  possible  way, 
with  a laugh  intended  to  sink  the  question  itself  in  his 
humorous  treatment  of  it.  “Well,  it  would  have  been  diffi- 
cult; we  should  have  had  to  walk  by  turns.  But  it  would 
have  been  jolly  to  see  the  sunrise.” 

“Yes:  the  sunrise  was  jolly,”  he  agreed. 

“Was  it?  You  saw  it,  then?” 

“I  saw  it,  yes;  from  the  deck.  I waited  up  for  them.” 
[ 324  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Naturally — I suppose  you  were  worried.  Why  did  n’t 
you  call  on  me  to  share  your  vigil?” 

He  stood  still,  di'agging  at  his  moustache  with  a lean 
weak  hand.  “I  don’t  think  you  would  have  cared  for  its 
denouements^  he  said  with  sudden  grimness. 

Again  she  was  disconcerted  by  the  abrupt  change  in 
his  tone,  and  as  in  one  flash  she  saw  the  peril  of  the  mo* 
ment,  and  the  need  of  keeping  her  sense  of  it  out  of  her 
eyes. 

“Denouement — is  n’t  that  too  big  a word  for  such  a 
small  incident?  The  worst  of  it,  after  all,  is  the  fatigue 
which  Bertha  has  probably  slept  off*  by  this  time.” 

She  clung  to  the  note  bravely,  though  its  futility  was 
now  plain  to  her  in  the  glare  of  his  miserable  eyes. 

“Don’t — don’t !”  he  broke  out,  with  the  hurt  cry 

of  a child;  and  while  she  tried  to  merge  her  sympathy, 
and  her  resolve  to  ignore  any  cause  for  it,  in  one  ambig- 
uous murmur  of  deprecation,  he  dropped  down  on  the 
bench  near  which  they  had  paused,  and  poured  out  the 
wretchedness  of  his  soul. 

It  was  a dreadful  hour — an  hour  from  which  she 
emerged  shrinking  and  seared,  as  though  her  lids  had 
been  scorched  by  its  actual  glare.  It  was  not  that  she  had 
never  had  premonitory  glimpses  of  such  an  outbreak; 
but  rather  because,  here  and  there  throughout  the  three 
months,  the  surface  of  life  had  shown  such  ominous  cracks 
and  vapours  that  her  fears  had  always  been  on  the  alert 
[ 325  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


for  an  upheaval.  There  had  been  moments  when  the  sitU' 
ation  had  presented  itself  under  a homelier  yet  more  vivid 
image — that  of  a shaky  vehicle,  dashed  by  unbroken 
steeds  over  a bumping  road,  while  she  cowered  within, 
aware  that  the  harness  wanted  mending,  and  w’ondering 
what  would  give  way  first.  Weh — everything  had  given 
way  now;  and  the  wonder  was  that  the  crazy  outfit  had 
held  together  so  long.  Her  sense  of  being  involved  in  the 
crash,  instead  of  merely  witnessing  it  from  the  road,  was 
intensified  by  the  way  in  which  Dorset,  through  his  furies 
of  denunciation  and  wild  reactions  of  self-contempt,  made 
her  feel  the  need  he  had  of  her,  the  place  she  had  taken 
in  his  life.  But  for  her,  what  ear  would  have  been  open 
to  his  cries And  what  hand  but  hers  could  di’ag  him  up 
again  to  a footing  of  sanity  and  self-respect.^  All  through 
the  stress  of  the  struggle  with  him,  she  had  been  con- 
scious of  something  faintly  maternal  in  her  efforts  to 
guide  and  uplift  him.  But  for  the  present,  if  he  clung  to 
her,  it  was  not  in  order  to  be  dragged  up,  but  to  feel 
some  one  floundering  in  the  depths  with  him : he  wanted 
her  to  suffer  with  him,  not  to  help  him  to  suffer  less. 

Happily  for  both,  there  was  little  physical  strength  to 
sustain  his  frenzy.  It  left  him,  collapsed  and  breathing 
heavily,  to  an  apathy  so  deep  and  prolonged  that  Lily 
almost  feared  the  passers-by  w'ould  think  it  the  result  of 
a seizure,  and  stop  to  offer  their  aid.  But  IMonte  Carlo  is, 
of  all  places,  the  one  where  the  human  bond  is  least  close, 
[ 326  ] 


I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  odd  sights  are  the  least  arresting.  If  a glance  or  two 
lingered  on  the  couple,  no  intrusive  sympathy  disturbed 
them;  and  it  was  Lily  herself  who  broke  the  silence  by 
rising  from  her  seat.  With  the  clearing  of  her  vision  the 
sweep  of  peril  had  extended,  and  she  saw  that  the  post 
of  danger  was  no  longer  at  Dorset’s  side. 

“If  you  won’t  go  back,  I must — don’t  make  me  leave 
you!”  she  urged. 

But  he  remained  mutely  resistant,  and  she  added: 
“What  are  you  going  to  do?  You  really  can’t  sit  here 
all  night.” 

“I  can  go  tc  an  hotel.  I can  telegraph  my  lawyers.”  He 
sat  up,  roused  by  a new  thought.  “By  Jove,  Selden’sat 
Nice — I’ll  send  for  Selden!” 

Lily,  at  this,  reseated  herself  with  a cry  of  alarm.  “No, 
no,  no!”  she  protested. 

He  swung  round  on  her  distrustfully.  “Why  not  Sel- 
den? He’s  a lawyer,  isn’t  he?  One  will  do  as  well  as  an- 
other in  a case  like  this.” 

“ As  badly  as  another,  you  mean.  I thought  you  re- 
lied on  me  to  help  you.” 

“You  do — by  being  so  sweet  and  patient  with  me.  If 
it  had  n’t  been  for  you  I ’d  have  ended  the  thing  long  ago. 
But  now  it ’s  got  to  end.”  He  rose  suddenly,  straighten- 
ing himself  with  an  effort.  “You  can’t  want  to  see  me 
ridiculous.” 

She  looked  at  him  kindly.  “ That ’s  just  it.” Then,  after 

[ 327  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


a moment’s  pondering,  almost  to  her  own  surprise  she 
broke  out  with  a flash  of  inspiration : “Well,  go  over  and 
see  Mr.  Selden.  You  ’ll  have  time  to  do  it  before  dinner.’* 

“Oh,  dinner ” he  mocked  her;  but  she  left  him 

with  the  smiling  rejoinder:  “Dinner  on  board,  remember; 
we’ll  put  it  off  till  nine  if  you  like.” 

It  was  past  four  aUeady ; and  when  a cab  had  dropped 
her  at  the  quay,  and  she  stood  waiting  for  the  gig  to 
put  off  for  her,  she  began  to  wonder  what  had  been  hap- 
pening on  the  yacht.  Of  Silverton’s  whereabouts  there 
had  been  no  mention.  Had  he  returned  to  the  Sabrina.'* 
Or  could  Bertha — the  dread  alternative  sprang  on  her 
suddenly — could  Bertha,  left  to  herself,  have  gone  ashore 
to  rejoin  him.?  Lily’s  heart  stood  still  at  the  thought. 
All  her  concern  had  hitherto  been  for  young  Silverton, 
not  only  because,  in  such  affairs,  the  woman’s  instinct  is 
to  side  with  the  man,  but  because  his  case  made  a peculiar 
appeal  to  her  sympathies.  He  was  so  desperately  in  earn- 
est, poor  youth,  and  his  earnestness  was  of  so  different 
a quality  from  Bertha’s,  though  hers  too  was  desperate 
enough.  The  difference  was  that  Bertha  was  in  earnest 

O 

only  about  herself,  while  he  was  in  earnest  about  her. 
But  now,  at  the  actual  crisis,  this  difference  seemed  to 
throw  the  weight  of  destitution  on  Bertha’s  side,  since  at 
least  he  had  her  to  suffer  for,  and  she  had  only  herself. 
At  any  rate,  viewed  less  ideally,  all  the  disadvantages  of 
such  a situation  were  for  the  woman ; and  it  was  to  Ber- 
r 328  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


tha  that  Lily’s  sympathies  now  went  out.  She  was  not 
fond  of  Bertha  Dorset,  but  neither  was  she  without  a 
sense  of  obligation,  the  heavier  for  having  so  little  per- 
sonal liking  to  sustain  it.  Bertha  had  been  kind  to  her, 
they  had  lived  together,  during  the  last  months,  on  terms 
of  easy  friendship,  and  the  sense  of  friction  of  which  Lily 
had  recently  become  aware  seemed  to  make  it  the  more 
urgent  that  she  should  work  undividedly  in  her  friend’s 
interest. 

It  was  in  Bertha’s  interest,  certainly,  that  she  had  de- 
spatched Dorset  to  consult  with  Lawrence  Selden.  Once 
the  grotesqueness  of  the  situation  accepted,  she  had  seen 
at  a glance  that  it  was  the  safest  in  which  Dorset  could 
find  himself.  Who  but  Selden  could  thus  miraculously 
combine  the  skill  to  save  Bertha  with  the  obligation  of 
doing  so.?  The  consciousness  that  much  skill  would  be 
required  made  Lily  rest  thankfully  in  the  greatness  of  the 
obligation.  Since  he  would  have  to  pull  Bertha  through 
she  could  trust  him  to  find  a way ; and  she  put  the  ful- 
ness of  her  trust  in  the  telegram  she  managed  to  send  him 
on  her  way  to  the  quay. 

Thus  far,  then,  Lily  felt  that  she  had  done  well;  and 
the  conviction  strengthened  her  for  the  task  that  re- 
mained. She  and  Bertha  had  never  been  on  confidential 
terms,  but  at  such  a crisis  the  barriers  of  reserve  must 
surely  fall:  Dorset’s  wild  allusions  to  the  scene  of  the  ’ 
morning  made  Lily  feel  that  they  were  down  already,  and 

[ 329  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


that  any  attempt  to  rebuild  them  would  be  beyond  Ber- 
tha’s strength.  She  pictured  the  poor  creature  shivering 
behind  her  fallen  defences  and  awaiting  with  suspense 
the  moment  when  she  could  take  refuge  in  the  first  shelter 
that  offered.  If  only  that  shelter  had  not  already  offered 
itself  elsewhere ! As  the  gig  traversed  the  short  distance 
between  the  quay  and  the  yacht,  Lily  grew  more  than 
ever  alarmed  at  the  possible  consequences  of  her  long  ab- 
sence. What  if  the  wretched  Bertha,  finding  in  all  the 
long  hours  no  soul  to  turn  to — but  by  this  time  Lily’s 
eager  foot  was  on  the  side-ladder,  and  her  first  step  on  the 
Sabrina  showed  the  worst  of  her  apprehensions  to  be  un- 
founded; for  there,  in  the  luxurious  shade  of  the  after- 
deck, the  wretched  Bertha,  in  full  command  of  her  usual 
attenuated  elegance,  sat  dispensing  tea  to  the  Duchess  of 
Beltshire  and  Lord  Hubert. 

The  sight  filled  Lily  with  such  surprise  that  she  felt  that 
Bertha,  at  least,  must  read  its  meaning  in  her  look,  and 
she  was  proportionately  disconcerted  by  the  blankness  of 
the  look  returned.  But  in  an  instant  she  saw  that  Mrs.  Dor- 
set had,  of  necessity,  to  look  blank  before  the  others,  and 
that,  to  mitigate  the  effect  of  her  own  surprise,  she  must 
at  once  produce  some  simple  reason  for  it.  The  long  habit 
of  rapid  transitions  made  it  easy  for  her  to  exclaim  to  the 
Duchess:  “MTiy,  I thought  you ’d  gone  back  to  the  Prin- 
cess!” and  this  sufficed  for  the  lady  she  addressed,  if  it 
was  hardly  enough  for  Lord  Hubert. 

[ 330  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


At  least  it  opened  the  way  to  a lively  explanation  of 
how  the  Duchess  was,  in  fact,  going  back  the  next  mo- 
ment, but  had  first  rushed  out  to  the  yacht  for  a word 
with  Mrs.  Dorset  on  the  subject  of  tomorrow’s  dinner — 
the  dinner  with  the  Brys,  to  which  Lord  Hubert  had 
finally  insisted  on  dragging  them, 

“To  save  my  neck,  you  know!”  he  explained,  with  a 
glance  that  appealed  to  Lily  for  some  recognition  of  his 
promptness;  and  the  Duchess  added,  with  her  noble  can- 
dour: “Mr.  Bry  has  promised  him  a tip,  and  he  says  if 
we  go  he  ’ll  pass  it  on  to  us.” 

This  led  to  some  final  pleasantries,  in  which,  as  it 
seemed  to  Lily,  Mrs.  Dorset  bore  her  part  with  astound- 
ing bravery,  and  at  the  close  of  which  Lord  Hubert,  from 
half  way  down  the  side-ladder,  called  back,  with  an  air 
of  numbering  heads:  “And  of  course  we  may  count  on 
Dorset  too.?” 

“Oh,  count  on  him,”  his  wife  assented  gaily.  She  was 
keeping  up  well  to  the  last — but  as  she  turned  back  from 
waving  her  adieux  over  the  side,  Lily  said  to  herself  that 
the  mask  must  drop  and  the  soul  of  fear  look  out. 

Mrs.  Dorset  turned  back  slowly;  perhaps  she  wanted 
time  to  steady  her  muscles;  at  any  rate,  they  were  still 
under  perfect  control  when,  dropping  once  more  into 
her  seat  behind  the  tea-table,  she  remarked  to  Miss  Bart 
with  a faint  touch  of  irony:  “I  suppose  I ought  to  say 
good  morning.” 


[ 331  ) 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


If  it  was  a cue,  Lily  was  ready  to  take  it,  though  with 
only  the  vaguest  sense  of  what  was  expected  of  her  in 
return.  There  was  something  unnerving  in  the  contem- 
plation of  Mrs.  Dorset’s  composure,  and  she  had  to  force 
the  light  tone  in  which  she  answered:  “I  tried  to  see  you 
this  morning,  but  you  were  not  yet  up.” 

“No — I got  to  bed  late.  After  we  missed  you  at  the 
station  I thought  we  ought  to  wait  for  you  till  the  last 
train.”  She  spoke  very  gently,  but  with  just  the  least 
tinge  of  reproach. 

“You  missed  us.?  You  waited  for  us  at  the  station.?” 
Now  indeed  Lily  was  too  far  adrift  in  bewilderment  to 
measure  the  other’s  words  or  keep  watch  on  her  own. 
“But  I thought  you  didn’t  get  to  the  station  till  after 
the  last  train  had  left!” 

Mrs.  Dorset,  examining  her  between  lowered  lids,  met 
this  with  the  immediate  query:  “Who  told  you  that.?” 

“George — I saw  him  just  now  in  the  gardens.” 

“Ah,  is  that  George’s  version?  Poor  George — he  was 
in  no  state  to  remember  what  I told  him.  He  had  one 
of  his  worst  attacks  this  morning,  and  I packed  him  off 
to  see  the  doctor.  Do  you  know  if  he  found  him.?” 

Lily,  still  lost  in  conjecture,  made  no  reply,  and  jMrs. 
Dorset  settled  herself  indolently  in  her  seat.  “ He  ’ll  wait 
to  see  him;  he  was  horribly  frightened  about  himself. 
It ’s  very  bad  for  him  to  be  worried,  and  whenever  any- 
thing upsetting  happens,  it  always  brings  on  an  attack  ” 
r 332  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


This  time  Lily  felt  sure  that  a cue  was  being  pressed 
on  her;  but  it  was  put  forth  with  such  startling  sudden- 
ness, and  with  so  incredible  an  air  of  ignoring  what  it 
led  up  to,  that  she  could  only  falter  out  doubtfully: 
“Anything  upsetting?” 

“Yes — such  as  having  you  so  conspicuously  on  his 
hands  in  the  small  hours.  You  know,  my  dear,  you’re 
rather  a big  responsibility  in  such  a scandalous  place 
after  midnight.” 

At  that — at  the  complete  unexpectedness  and  the  in- 
conceivable audacity  of  it — Lily  could  not  restrain  the 
tribute  of  an  astonished  laugh. 

“Well,  really — considering  it  was  you  who  burdened 
him  with  the  responsibility!” 

Mrs.  Dorset  took  this  with  an  exquisite  mildness.  “By 
not  having  the  superhuman  cleverness  to  discover  you  in 
that  frightful  rush  for  the  train  ? Or  the  imagination  to 
believe  that  you ’d  take  it  without  us — you  and  he  all 
alone — instead  of  waiting  quietly  in  the  station  till  we 
did  manage  to  meet  you  ? ” 

Lily’s  colour  rose:  it  was  growing  clear  to  her  that 
Bei’tha  was  pursuing  an  object,  following  a line  she  had 
marked  out  for  herself.  Only,  with  such  a doom  impend- 
ing, why  waste  time  in  these  childish  efforts  to  avert  it? 
The  puerility  of  the  attempt  disarmed  Lily’s  indigna- 
tion: did  it  not  prove  how  homhly  the  poor  creature 
was  frightened? 

[ 333  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“No;  by  our  simply  all  keeping  together  at  Nice,”  she 
returned. 

“Keeping  together.^  When  it  was  you  who  seized  the 
first  opportunity  to  rush  off  with  the  Duchess  and  her 
friends  ? My  dear  Lily,  you  are  not  a child  to  be  led  by 
the  hand!” 

“No — nor  to  be  lectured,  Bertha,  really ; if  that ’s  what 
you  are  doing  to  me  now.” 

Mrs.  Dorset  smiled  on  her  reproachfully.  “Lecture 
you — I?  Heaven  forbid!  I was  merely  trying  to  give  you 
a friendly  hint.  But  it’s  usually  the  other  way  round, 
isn’t  it.?*  I’m  expected  to  take  hints,  not  to  give  them: 
I ’ve  positively  lived  on  them  all  these  last  months.” 

“Hints — from  me  to  you.?”  Lily  repeated. 

“Oh,  negative  ones  merely — what  not  to  be  and  to 
do  and  to  see.  And  I think  I ’ve  taken  them  to  admira- 
tion. Only,  my  dear,  if  you’ll  let  me  say  so,  I didn’t 
understand  that  one  of  my  negative  duties  was  not  to 
warn  you  when  you  canded  your  imprudence  too  far.” 

A chill  of  fear  passed  over  IMiss  Bart : a sense  of  re- 
membered treachery  that  was  like  the  gleam  of  a knife 
in  the  dusk.  But  compassion,  in  a moment,  got  the  bet- 
ter of  her  instinctive  recoil.  MTiat  was  this  outpouring 
of  senseless  bitterness  but  the  tracked  creature’s  attempt 
to  cloud  the  medium  through  which  it  was  fleeing.?  It 
was  on  Lily’s  lips  to  exclaim:  “You  poor  soul,  don’t 
double  and  turn — come  straight  back  to  me,  and  we’ll 
[ 334  } 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


find  a way  out!”  But  the  words  died  under  the  impene* 
trable  insolence  of  Bertha’s  smile.  Lily  sat  silent,  taking 
the  brunt  of  it  quietly,  letting  it  spend  itself  on  her  to 
the  last  drop  of  its  accumulated  falseness ; then,  without 
a word,  she  rose  and  went  down  to  her  cabin. 

Ill 

MISS  Bart’s  telegram  caught  Lawrence  Selden  at 
the  door  of  his  hotel;  and  having  read  it,  he 
turned  back  to  wait  for  Dorset.  The  message  necessarily 
left  large  gaps  for  conjecture ; but  all  that  he  had  recently 
heard  and  seen  made  these  but  too  easy  to  fill  in.  On  the 
whole  he  was  surprised;  for  though  he  had  perceived  that 
the  situation  contained  all  the  elements  of  an  explosion, 
he  had  often  enough,  in  the  range  of  his  personal  expe- 
rience, seen  just  such  combinations  subside  into  harm- 
lessness. Still,  Dorset’s  spasmodic  temper,  and  his  wife’s 
reckless  disregard  of  appearances,  gave  the  situation  a 
peculiar  insecurity ; and  it  was  less  from  the  sense  of  any 
special  relation  to  the  case  than  from  a purely  profes- 
sional zeal,  that  Selden  resolved  to  guide  the  pair  to 
safety.  Whether,  in  the  present  instance,  safety  for  either 
lay  in  repairing  so  damaged  a tie,  it  was  no  business  of 
his  to  consider:  he  had  only,  on  general  principles,  to 
think  of  averting  a scandal,  and  his  desire  to  avert  it  was 
increased  by  his  fear  of  its  involving  Miss  Bart.  There 
[ 335  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


was  nothing  specific  in  this  apprehension;  he  merel}? 
wished  to  spare  her  the  embarrassment  of  being  ever  so 
remotely  connected  with  the  public  washing  of  the  Dorset 
linen. 

How  exhaustive  and  unpleasant  such  a process  would 
be,  he  saw  even  more  vividly  after  his  two  hours’  talk 
with  poor  Doi’set.  If  anything  came  out  at  all,  it  would  ‘ 
be  such  a vast  unpacking  of  accumulated  moral  rags  as 
left  him,  after  his  visitor  had  gone,  with  the  feeling  that 
he  must  fling  open  the  windows  and  have  his  room  swept 
out.  But  nothing  should  come  out;  and  happily  for  his 
side  of  the  case,  the  dirty  rags,  however  pieced  together^ 
could  not,  without  considerable  difficulty,  be  turned  into 
a homogeneous  grievance.  The  torn  edges  did  not  always 
fit — there  were  missing  bits,  there  w'ere  disparities  of 
size  and  colour,  all  of  which  it  Avas  naturally  Selden’s 
business  to  make  the  most  of  in  putting  them  under  his 
client’s  eye.  But  to  a man  in  Dorset’s  mood  the  com- 
pletest  demonstration  could  not  carry  conviction,  and 
Selden  saAv  that  for  the  moment  all  he  could  do  Avas  to 
soothe  and  temporize,  to  offer  sympathy  and  to  counsel 
prudence.  He  let  Dorset  depart  charged  to  the  brim  Avith 
the  sense  that,  till  their  next  meeting,  he  must  maintain 
a strictly  noncommittal  attitude;  that,  in  short,  his  share 
in  the  game  consisted  for  the  present  in  looking  on. 
Selden  knew,  hoAA^ever,  that  he  could  not  long  keep  such 
violences  in  equilibrium;  and  he  promised  to  meet  Dor- 
[ 336  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


iet,  the  next  morning,  at  an  hotel  in  Monte  Carlo.  Mean- 
while he  counted  not  a little  on  the  reaction  of  weakness 
and  self-distrust  that,  in  such  natures,  follows  on  every 
unwonted  expenditure  of  moral  force;  and  his  telegraphic 
reply  to  Miss  Bart  consisted  simply  in  the  injunction; 
“Assume  that  everything  is  as  usual.” 

On  this  assumption,  in  fact,  the  early  part  of  the  fol- 
lowing day  was  lived  through.  Dorset,  as  if  in  obedience 
to  Lily’s  imperative  bidding,  had  actually  returned  in 
time  for  a late  dinner  on  the  yacht.  The  repast  had  been 
the  most  difficult  moment  of  the  day.  Dorset  was  sunk 
in  one  of  the  abysmal  silences  which  so  commonly  fol- 
lowed on  what  his  wife  called  his  “ attacks  ” that  it  was 
easy,  before  the  servants,  to  refer  it  to  this  cause;  but 
Bertha  herself  seemed,  perversely  enough,  little  disposed 
to  make  use  of  this  obvious  means  of  protection.  She 
simply  left  the  brunt  of  the  situation  on  her  husband’s 
hands,  as  if  too  absorbed  in  a grievance  of  her  own  to 
suspect  that  she  might  be  the  object  of  one  herself.  To 
Lily  this  attitude  was  the  most  ominous,  because  the 
most  perplexing,  element  in  the  situation.  As  she  tried 
to  fan  the  weak  flicker  of  talk,  to  build  up,  again  and 
again,  the  crumbling  structure  of  “appearances,”  her  own 
attention  was  perpetually  distracted  by  the  question; 
“What  on  earth  can  she  be  driving  at.!^”  There  was 
something  positively  exasperating  in  Bertha’s  attitude 
of  isolated  defiance.  If  only  she  would  have  given  her 
I 337  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


iHend  a hint  they  might  still  have  worked  together  suc- 
cessfully; but  how  could  Lily  be  of  use,  while  she  was 
thus  obstinately  shut  out  from  participation?  To  be  of 
use  was  what  she  honestly  wanted;  and  not  for  her  own 
sake  but  for  the  Dorsets’.  She  had  not  thought  of  her 
own  situation  at  all:  she  was  simply  engrossed  in  trying 
to  put  a little  order  in  theirs.  But  the  close  of  the  short 
dreary  evening  left  her  with  a sense  of  effort  hopelessly 
wasted.  She  had  not  tried  to  see  Dorset  alone:  she  had 
positively  shrunk  from  a renewal  of  his  confidences.  It 
was  Bertha  whose  confidence  she  sought,  and  who  should 
as  eagerly  have  invited  her  own;  and  Bertha,  as  if  in  the 
infatuation  of  self-destruction,  was  actually  pushing  away 
her  rescuing  hand. 

Lily,  going  to  bed  early,  had  left  the  couple  to  them- 
selves; and  it  seemed  part  of  the  general  mystery  in 
which  she  moved  that  more  than  an  hour  should  elapse 
before  she  heard  Bertha  walk  down  the  silent  passage 
and  regain  her  room.  The  morrow,  rising  on  an  appar- 
ent continuance  of  the  same  conditions,  revealed  nothing 
of  what  had  occuiTed  between  the  confronted  pair.  One 
fact  alone  outwardly  proclaimed  the  change  they  were 
all  conspiring  to  ignore;  and  that  was  the  non-appear- 
ance of  Ned  Silverton.  No  one  referred  to  it,  and  this 
tacit  avoidance  of  the  subject  kept  it  in  the  immediate 
foreground  of  consciousness.  But  there  was  another 
'’hange,  perceptible  only  to  Lily ; and  that  was  that  Dor- 
[ 338  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


set  now  avoided  her  almost  as  pointedly  as  his  wife.  Per- 
haps he  was  repenting  his  rash  outpourings  of  the  pre- 
vious day ; perhaps  only  trying,  in  his  clumsy  way,  to 
conform  to  Selden’s  counsel  to  behave  “as  usual.”  Such 
instructions  no  more  make  for  easiness  of  attitude  than 
the  photographer’s  behest  to  “look  natural”;  and  in  a 
creature  as  unconscious  as  poor  Dorset  of  the  appear- 
ance he  habitually  presented,  the  struggle  to  maintain  a 
pose  was  sure  to  result  in  queer  contortions. 

It  resulted,  at  any  rate,  in  throwing  Lily  strangely 
on  her  own  resources.  She  had  learned,  on  leaving  her 
room,  that  Mrs.  Dorset  was  still  invisible,  and  that  Dor- 
set had  left  the  yacht  early ; and  feeling  too  restless  to 
remain  alone,  she  too  had  herself  ferried  ashore.  Stray- 
ing toward  the  Casino,  she  attached  herself  to  a group 
of  acquaintances  from  Nice,  with  whom  she  lunched,  and 
in  whose  company  she  was  returning  to  the  rooms  when 
she  encountered  Selden  crossing  the  square.  She  could 
not,  at  the  moment,  sepai’ate  herself  definitely  from  her 
party,  who  had  hospitably  assumed  that  she  would  re- 
main with  them  till  they  took  their  departure;  but  she 
found  time  for  a momentary  pause  of  enquiry,  to  which 
he  promptly  returned : “I’ve  seen  him  again — he’s  just 
left  me.” 

She  waited  before  him  anxiously.  “Well.?  what  has 
1 happened.?  What  will  happen.?” 

“Nothing  as  yet — and  nothing  in  the  future,  I think.” 

i f 339  J 

I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“It ’s  over,  then?  It’s  settled?  You’re  sure?” 

He  smiled.  “Give  me  time.  I’m  not  sure — but  I’m 
a good  deal  surer.”  And  with  that  she  had  to  content 
herself,  and  hasten  on  to  the  expectant  gi’oup  on  the 
steps. 

Selden  had  in  fact  given  her  the  utmost  measure  of 
his  sureness,  had  even  stretched  it  a shade  to  meet  the 
anxiety  in  her  eyes.  And  now,  as  he  turned  away,  stroll- 
ing down  the  hill  toward  the  station,  that  anxiety  re- 
mained with  him  as  the  visible  justification  of  his  own. 
It  was  not,  indeed,  anything  specific  that  he  feai'ed: 
there  had  been  a literal  truth  in  his  declaration  that  he 
did  not  think  anything  would  happen.  MTiat  troubled 
him  was  that,  though  Dorset’s  attitude  had  perceptibly 
changed,  the  change  was  not  clearly  to  be  accounted  for. 
It  had  certainly  not  been  produced  by  Selden’s  argu- 
ments, or  by  the  action  of  his  own  soberer  reason.  Five 
minutes’  talk  sufficed  to  show  that  some  alien  influence 
had  been  at  work,  and  that  it  had  not  so  much  subdued 
his  resentment  as  weakened  his  wiD,  so  that  he  moved 
under  it  in  a state  of  apathy,  like  a dangerous  lunatic 
who  has  been  drugged.  Temporarily,  no  doubt,  however 
exerted,  it  worked  for  the  general  safety;  the  question 
was  how  long  it  would  last,  and  by  what  kind  of  reac- 
tion it  was  likely  to  be  followed.  On  these  points  Selden 
could  gain  no  light;  for  he  saw  that  one  effect  of  the 
transformation  had  been  to  shut  him  off  from  free  com- 
[ 340  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


munion  with  Dorset.  The  latter,  indeed,  was  still  moved 
by  the  irresistible  desire  to  discuss  his  wrong ; but,  though 
he  revolved  about  it  with  the  same  forlorn  tenacity,  Sel 
den  was  aware  that  something  always  restrained  him 
from  full  expression.  His  state  was  one  to  produce  first 
weariness  and  then  impatience  in  his  hearer;  and  when 
their  talk  was  over,  Selden  began  to  feel  that  he  had 
done  his  utmost,  and  might  justifiably  wash  his  hands 
of  the  sequel. 

It  was  in  this  mind  that  he  had  been  making  his  way 
back  to  the  station  when  Miss  Bart  crossed  his  path; 
but  though,  after  his  brief  word  with  her,  he  kept  me- 
chanically on  his  course,  he  was  conscious  of  a gradual 
change  in  his  purpose.  The  change  had  been  produced 
by  the  look  in  her  eyes;  and  in  his  eagerness  to  define 
the  nature  of  that  look,  he  dropped  into  a seat  in  the 
gardens,  and  sat  brooding  upon  the  question.  It  was 
natural  enough,  in  all  conscience,  that  she  should  appear 
anxious:  a young  woman  placed,  in  the  close  intimacy 
of  a yachting-cruise,  between  a couple  on  the  verge  of 
disaster,  could  hardly,  aside  from  her  concern  for  her 
friends,  be  insensible  to  the  awkwardness  of  her  own 
position.  The  worst  of  it  was  that,  in  interpreting  Miss 
Bart’s  state  of  mind,  so  many  alternative  readings  were 
possible;  and  one  of  these,  in  Selden’s  troubled  mind, 
took  the  ugly  form  suggested  by  Mrs.  Fisher.  If  the  gill 
was  afraid,  was  she  afraid  for  herself  or  for  her  friends? 

[ 341  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

And  to  what  degi-ee  was  her  dread  of  a catastrophe  in- 
tensified by  the  sense  of  being  fatally  involved  in  it? 
The  burden  of  offence  lying  manifestly  with  Mrs.  Dor- 
set, this  conjecture  seemed  on  the  face  of  it  gratuitously 
unkind;  but  Selden  knew  that  in  the  most  one-sided 
matrimonial  quarrel  there  are  generally  coimter-charges 
to  be  brought,  and  that  they  are  brought  with  the 
greater  audacity  where  the  original  grievance  is  so  em- 
phatic. Mrs.  Fisher  had  not  hesitated  to  suggest  the 
likelihood  of  Dorset’s  marrying  Miss  Bart  if  “anything 
happened”;  and  though  Mrs.  Fisher’s  conclusions  were 
notoriously  rash,  she  was  shrewd  enough  in  reading  the 
signs  from  which  they  were  drawm.  Dorset  had  appar- 
ently shown  marked  interest  in  the  girl,  and  this  in- 
terest might  be  used  to  cruel  advantage  in  his  wife’s 
struggle  for  rehabilitation.  Selden  knew  that  Bertha 
would  fight  to  the  last  round  of  powder:  the  rashness 
of  her  conduct  was  illogically  combined  with  a cold  de- 
termination to  escape  its  consequences.  She  could  be 
as  unscrupulous  in  fighting  for  herself  as  she  was  reck- 
less in  courting  danger,  and  w'hatever  came  to  her  hand 
at  such  moments  was  likely  to  be  used  as  a defensive 
missile.  He  did  not,  as  yet,  see  clearly  just  what  course 
she  was  likely  to  take,  but  his  perplexity  increased  his 
apprehension,  and  wdth  it  the  sense  that,  before  leav- 
ing, he  must  speak  again  with  Miss  Bart.  MTiatever  her 
share  in  the  situation — and  he  had  abvays  honestly  tried 
[ 342  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


to  resist  judging  her  by  her  surroundings — however  free 
she  might  be  from  any  personal  connection  with  it,  she 
would  be  better  out  of  the  way  of  a possible  crash;  and 
since  she  had  appealed  to  him  for  help,  it  was  clearly 
his  business  to  tell  her  so. 

This  decision  at  last  brought  him  to  his  feet,  and  car- 
ried him  back  to  the  gambling  rooms,  within  whose  doors 
he  had  seen  her  disappearing;  but  a prolonged  explora- 
tion of  the  crowd  failed  to  put  him  on  her  traces.  He 
saw  instead,  to  his  surprise,  Ned  Silverton  loitering  some- 
what ostentatiously  about  the  tables;  and  the  discovery 
that  this  actor  in  the  drama  was  not  only  hovering  in  the 
wings,  but  actually  inviting  the  exposure  of  the  footlights, 
though  it  might  have  seemed  to  imply  that  all  peril  was 
over,  served  rather  to  deepen  Selden’s  sense  of  foreboding. 
Charged  with  this  impression  he  returned  to  the  square, 
hoping  to  see  Miss  Bart  move  across  it,  as  every  one  in 
Monte  Carlo  seemed  inevitably  to  do  at  least  a dozen 
times  a day;  but  here  again  he  waited  vainly  for  a 
glimpse  of  her,  and  the  conclusion  was  slowly  forced  on 
him  that  she  had  gone  back  to  the  Sabrina,  It  would  be 
difficult  to  follow  her  there,  and  still  more  difficult,  should 
he  do  so,  to  contrive  the  opportunity  for  a private  word; 
and  he  had  almost  decided  on  the  unsatisfactory  alterna- 
tive of  writing,  when  the  ceaseless  diorama  of  the  square 
suddenly  unrolled  before  him  the  figures  of  Lord  Hubert 
and  Mrs.  Bry. 


[ 343  ] 


rHE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Hailing  them  at  once  with  his  question,  he  learned 
from  Lord  Hubert  that  Miss  Bart  had  just  returned  to 
the  Sabrina  in  Dorset’s  company;  an  announcement  so 
evidently  disconcerting  to  him  that  ]\Ii*s.  Bry,  after  a 
glance  from  her  companion,  which  seemed  to  act  like  the 
pressure  on  a spring,  brought  forth  the  prompt  proposal 
that  he  should  come  and  meet  his  fidends  at  dinner  that 
evening — “At  Becassin’s — a little  dinner  to  the  Duch- 
ess,” she  flashed  out  before  Lord  Hubert  had  time  to  re- 
move the  pressure. 

Selden’s  sense  of  the  privilege  of  being  included  in 
such  company  brought  him  early  in  the  evening  to  the 
door  of  the  restaurant,  where  he  paused  to  scan  the  ranks 
of  diners  approaching  down  the  brightly  lit  terrace. 
There,  while  the  Brys  hovered  within  over  the  last  agi- 
tating alternatives  of  the  menu,  he  kept  watch  for  the 
guests  from  the  Sabrina,  who  at  length  rose  on  the  hori- 
zon in  company  with  the  Duchess,  Lord  and  Lady  Skid- 
daw  and  the  Stepneys.  From  this  group  it  was  easy  for 
him  to  detach  Miss  Bart  on  the  pretext  of  a moment’s 
glance  into  one  of  the  brilliant  shops  along  the  terrace, 
and  to  say  to  her,  while  they  lingered  together  in  the 
white  dazzle  of  a jeweller’s  window:  “I  stopped  over  to 
see  y-ou — to  beg  of  you  to  leave  the  yacht.” 

The  eyes  she  turned  on  him  showed  a quick  gleam  of 
her  former  fear.  “To  leave — ? What  do  you  mean.?  MTiat 
has  happened.^” 


[ 344  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

“Nothing.  But  if  anything  should,  why  be  in  the  way 
of  it.?” 

The  glare  from  the  jeweller’s  window,  deepening  the 
pallour  of  her  face,  gave  to  its  delicate  lines  the  sharp- 
ness of  a tragic  mask.  “Nothing  will,  I am  sure;  but  while 
there’s  even  a doubt  left,  how  can  you  think  I would 
leave  Bertha?” 

The  words  rang  out  on  a note  of  contempt — was  it 
possibly  of  contempt  for  himself?  Well,  he  was  willing 
to  risk  its  renewal  to  the  extent  of  insisting,  with  an 
undeniable  throb  of  added  interest:  “You  have  yourself 
to  think  of,  you  know — ” to  which,  with  a strange  fall 
of  sadness  in  her  voice,  she  answered,  meeting  his  eyes; 
“If  you  knew  how  little  difference  that  makes!” 

“Oh,  well,  nothing  will  happen,”  he  said,  more  for  his 
own  reassurance  than  for  hers;  and  “Nothing,  nothing, 
of  course!”  she  valiantly  assented,  as  they  turned  to  over- 
take their  companions. 

In  the  thronged  restaurant,  taking  their  places  about 
Mrs.  Bry’s  illuminated  board,  their  confidence  seemed  to 
gain  support  from  the  familiarity  of  their  surroundings. 
Here  were  Dorset  and  his  wife  once  more  presenting 
their  customary  faces  to  the  world,  she  engrossed  in  es- 
tablishing her  relation  with  an  intensely  new  gown,  he 
shrinking  with  dyspeptic  dread  from  the  multiplied  so- 
licitations of  the  menu.  The  mere  fact  that  they  thus 
showed  themselves  together,  with  the  utmost  openness 
I ^45  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  place  afforded,  seemed  to  declare  beyond  a doubt 
that  their  differences  were  composed.  How  this  end  had 
been  attained  was  still  matter  for  wonder,  but  it  was 
clear  that  for  the  moment  Miss  Bart  rested  confidently 
in  the  result;  and  Selden  tried  to  achieve  the  same  view 
by  telling  himself  that  her  opportunities  for  observation 
had  been  ampler  than  his  own. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  dinner  advanced  through  a labjuinth 
of  courses,  in  which  it  became  clear  that  Mrs.  Bry  had 
occasionally  broken  away  from  Lord  Hubert’s  restrain- 
ing hand,  Selden’s  general  watchfulness  began  to  lose  it- 
self in  a particular  study  of  Miss  Bart.  It  was  one  of  the 
days  when  she  was  so  handsome  that  to  be  handsome  was 
enough,  and  all  the  rest — her  grace,  her  quickness,  her 
social  felicities — seemed  the  overflow  of  a bounteous  na- 
ture. But  what  especially  struck  him  was  the  way  in  which 
she  detached  herself,  by  a hundred  undefinable  shades, 
from  the  persons  who  most  abounded  in  her  owti  style. 
It  was  in  just  such  company,  the  fine  flower  and  com- 
plete expression  of  the  state  she  aspired  to,  that  the  dif- 
ferences came  out  with  special  poignancy,  her  grace  cheap- 
ening the  other  women’s  smartness  as  her  finely -discrimi- 
nated !!alences  made  their  chatter  dull.  The  strain  of  the 
last  hours  had  restored  to  her  face  the  deeper  eloquence 
which  Selden  had  lately  missed  in  it,  and  the  bravery  of 
her  words  to  him  still  fluttered  in  her  voice  and  eyes. 
Yes,  she  was  matchless — it  was  the  one  word  foi  hen 

[ 346  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  he  could  give  his  admiration  the  freer  play  because 
so  little  personal  feeling  remained  in  it.  His  real  detach- 
ment from  her  had  taken  place,  not  at  the  lurid  moment 
of  disenchantment,  but  now,  in  the  sober  after-light  of 
discrimination,  where  he  saw  her  definitely  divided  from 
him  by  the  crudeness  of  a choice  which  seemed  to  deny 
the  very  differences  he  felt  in  her.  It  was  before  him  again 
in  its  completeness — ^the  choice  in  which  she  was  content 
to  rest : in  the  stupid  costliness  of  the  food  and  the  showy 
dulness  of  the  talk,  in  the  freedom  of  speech  which  never 
arrived  at  wit  and  the  freedom  of  act  which  never  made 
for  romance.  The  strident  setting  of  the  restaurant,  in 
which  their  table  seemed  set  apart  in  a special  glare  of 
publicity,  and  the  presence  at  it  of  little  Dabham  of  the 
“Riviera  Notes,”  emphasized  the  ideals  of  a world  where 
conspicuousness  passed  for  distinction,  and  the  society 
column  had  become  the  roll  of  fame. 

It  was. as  the  immortalizer  of  such  occasions  that  little 
Dabham,  wedged  in  modest  watchfulness  between  two 
brilliant  neighbours,  suddenly  became  the  centre  of  Sel- 
den’s  scrutiny.  How  much  did  he  know  of  what  was  go- 
ing on,  and  how  much,  for  his  purpose,  was  still  worth 
finding  out.?’  His  little  eyes  were  like  tentacles  thrown 
out  to  catch  the  floating  intimations  with  which,  to  Sel- 
den,  the  air  at  moments  seemed  thick;  then  again  it 
cleared  to  its  normal  emptiness,  and  he  could  see  nothing 
in  it  for  the  journalist  but  leisure  to  note  the  elegance 
[ ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


of  the  ladies’  gowns.  Mrs.  Dorset’s,  in  particular,  chal* 
lenged  all  the  wealth  of  Mr.  Dabham’s  vocabulary:  it 
had  surprises  and  subtleties  w'orthy  of  what  he  would 
have  called  “the  literary  style.”  At  first,  as  Selden  had 
noticed,  it  had  been  almost  too  preoccupying  to  its 
wearer;  but  now  she  was  in  full  command  of  it,  and  was 
even  producing  her  effects  with  unwonted  freedom.  Was 
she  not,  indeed,  too  free,  too  fluent,  for  perfect  natural- 
ness ? And  was  not  Dorset,  to  whom  his  glance  had  passed 
by  a natural  transition,  too  jerkily  wavering  between  the 
same  extremes.^  Dorset  indeed  was  always  jerky;  but  it 
seemed  to  Selden  that  tonight  each  vibration  swung  him 
farther  from  his  centre. 

The  dinner,  meanwhile,  Avas  moving  to  its  triumphant 
close,  to  the  evident  satisfaction  of  ]\Irs.  Bry,  who,  throned 
in  apoplectic  majesty  between  Lord  Skiddaw  and  Lord 
Hubeid,  seemed  in  spirit  to  be  calling  on  IVIrs.  Fisher  to 
witness  her  achievement.  Short  of  Mrs.  Fisher  her  audi- 
ence might  have  been  called  complete;  for  the  restaurant 
was  crowded  with  persons  mainly  gathered  there  for  the 
purpose  of  spectatorship,  and  accurately  posted  as  to  the 
names  and  faces  of  the  celebrities  they  had  come  to  see. 
Mrs.  Bry,  conscious  that  all  her  feminine  guests  came 
under  that  heading,  and  that  each  one  looked  her  part 
to  admiration,  shone  on  Lily  with  all  the  pent-up  grat- 
itude that  Mrs.  Fisher  had  failed  to  deserve.  Selden, 
catching  the  glance,  wondered  what  part  IMiss  Bart 
[ 348  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


had  played  in  organizing  the  entertainment.  She  did,  at 
least,  a great  deal  to  adorn  it;  and  as  he  watched  the 
bright  security  with  which  she  bore  herself,  he  smiled 
to  think  that  he  should  have  fancied  her  in  need  of  help. 
Never  had  she  appeared  more  serenely  mistress  of  the 
situation  than  when,  at  the  moment  of  dispersal,  de- 
taching herself  a little  from  the  group  about  the  table, 
she  tui’ned  with  a smile  and  a graceful  slant  of  the 
shoulders  to  receive  her  cloak  from  Dorset. 

The  dinner  had  been  protracted  over  Mr.  Bry’s  ex- 
ceptional cigars  and  a bewildering  array  of  liqueurs,  and 
many  of  the  other  tables  were  empty;  but  a sufficient 
number  of  diners  still  lingered  to  give  relief  to  the  leave- 
taking  of  Mrs.  Bry’s  distinguished  guests.  This  ceremony 
was  drawn  out  and  complicated  by  the  fact  that  it  in- 
volved, on  the  part  of  the  Duchess  and  Lady  Skiddaw, 
definite  farewells,  and  pledges  of  speedy  reunion  in  Paris, 
where  they  were  to  pause  and  replenish  their  wardrobes 
on  the  way  to  England.  The  quality  of  Mrs.  Bry’s  hos- 
pitality, and  of  the  tips  her  husband  had  presumably 
imparted,  lent  to  the  manner  of  the  English  ladies  a 
general  effusiveness  which  shed  the  rosiest  light  over 
their  hostess’s  future.  In  its  glow  Mrs.  Dorset  and  the 
Stepneys  were  also  visibly  included,  and  the  whole  scene 
had  touches  of  intimacy  worth  their  weight  in  gold  to 
the  watchful  pen  of  Mr.  Dabham. 

A glance  at  her  watch  caused  the  Duchess  to  exclaim 

[ 349  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


to  her  sister  that  they  had  just  time  to  dash  for  their 
train,  and  the  fluny  of  this  departure  over,  the  Stepneys, 
who  had  their  motor  at  the  door,  offered  to  convey  the 
Dorsets  and  Miss  Bart  to  the  quay.  The  offer  was  ac- 
cepted, and  Mrs.  Dorset  moved  away  wdth  her  husband 
in  attendance.  Miss  Bart  had  lingered  for  a last  word 
with  Lord  Hubert,  and  Stepney,  on  whom  Mr.  Bry  was 
pressing  a final,  and  still  more  expensive,  cigar,  called 
out:  “Come  on,  Lily,  if  you  ’re  going  back  to  the  yacht.” 

Lily  turned  to  obey;  but  as  she  did  so,  IMrs.  Dorset, 
who  had  paused  on  her  way  out,  moved  a few  steps  back 
toward  the  table. 

“Miss  Bart  is  not  going  back  to  the  yacht,”  she  said 
in  a voice  of  singular  distinctness.  « 

A startled  look  ran  from  eye  to  eye;  Mrs.  Bry  crim- 
soned to  the  verge  of  congestion,  Mrs.  Stepney  slipped 
nervously  behind  her  husband,  and,  Selden,  in  the  gen- 
e al  turmoil  of  his  sensations,  was  mainly  conscious  of  a 
longing  to  grip  Dabham  by  the  collar  and  fling  him  out 
into  the  street. 

Dorset,  meanwhile,  had  stepped  back  to  his  wife’s 
side.  His  face  was  white,  and  he  looked  about  him  with 
cowed  angry  eyes.  “Bertha! — Miss  Bart  . . . this  is 
some  misunderstanding  . . . some  mistake  ...” 

“INIiss  Bart  remains  here,”  his  wife  rejoined  incisively. 
“And,  I think,  George,  we  had  better  not  detain  IVtrs. 
Stepney  any  longer.” 


[ 850  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Miss  Bart,  during  this  brief  exchange  of  words,  re- 
mained in  admirable  erectness,  slightly  isolated  from  the 
embarrassed  group  about  her.  She  had  paled  a little 
under  the  shock  of  the  insult,  but  the  discomposure  of 
the  surrounding  faces  was  not  reflected  in  her  own.  The 
faint  disdain  of  her  smile  seemed  to  lift  her  high  above 
her  antagonist’s  reach,  and  it  was  not  till  she  had  given 
Mrs,  Dorset  the  full  measure  of  the  distance  between  them 
that  she  turned  and  extended  her  hand  to  her  hostess. 

“I  am  joining  the  Duchess  tomorrow,”  she  explained, 
“and  it  seemed  easier  for  me  to  remain  on  shore  for 
the  night.” 

She  held  firmly  to  Mrs.  Bry’s  wavering  eye  while  she 
gave  this  explanation,  but  when  it  was  over  Selden  saw 
her  send  a tentative  glance  from  one  to  another  of  the 
women’s  faces.  She  read  their  incredulity  in  their  averted 
looks,  and  in  the  mute  wretchedness  of  the  men  behind 
them,  and  for  a miserable  half-second  he  thought  she 
quivered  on  the  brink  of  failure.  Then,  turning  to  him 
with  an  easy  gesture,  and  the  pale  bravery  of  her  recov- 
ered smile — “Dear  Mr.  Selden,”  she  said,  “you  promised 
to  see  me  to  my  cab.” 


Outside,  the  sky  was  gusty  and  overcast,  and  as  Lily  and 
Selden  moved  toward  the  deserted  gardens  below  the 
restaurant,  spurts  of  warm  rain  blew  fitfully  against  their 
faces.  The  fiction  of  the  cab  had  been  tacitly  abandoned,* 

[ 381  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


they  walked  on  in  silence,  her  hand  on  his  arm,  till  the 
deeper  shade  of  the  gardens  received  them,  and  pausing 
beside  a bench,  he  said;  “Sit  down  a moment.” 

She  dropped  to  the  seat  without  answering,  but  the 
electric  lamp  at  the  bend  of  the  path  shed  a gleam  on 
the  struggling  misery  of  her  face.  Selden  sat  dowm  be- 
side her,  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  feai*ful  lest  any  word 
he  chose  should  touch  too  roughly  on  her  wound,  and 
kept  also  from  free  utterance  by  the  wretched  doubt 
which  had  slowly  renewed  itself  within  him.  What  had 
brought  her  to  this  pass.?  What  weakness  had  placed 
her  so  abominably  at  her  enemy’s  mercy.?  And  why  should 
Bertha  Dorset  have  turned  into  an  enemy  at  the  very 
moment  when  she  so  obviously  needed  the  support  of 
her  sex?  Even  while  his  nerves  raged  at  the  subjection 
of  husbands  to  their  wives,  and  at  the  cruelty  of  women 
to  their  kind,  reason  obstinately  harped  on  the  prover- 
bial relation  between  smoke  and  fire.  The  memory  of 
Mrs.  Fisher’s  hints,  and  the  corroboration  of  his  owti 
impressions,  while  they  deepened  his  pity  also  increased 
his  constraint,  since,  whichever  way  he  sought  a free  out- 
let for  sympathy,  it  was  blocked  by  the  fear  of  commit- 
ting a blunder. 

Suddenly  it  struck  him  that  his  silence  must  seem  al- 
most as  accusatory  as  that  of  the  men  he  had  despised 
for  turning  from  her;  but  before  he  could  find  the  fitting 
word  she  had  cut  him  short  with  a question. 

[ 352  ] 


Dear  Mr.  Selden,”  she  said,  “ you  promised  to  see  me  to  my  cab, 


50^ 


^1 


''^'  ,i  -J 


A-  ' ■ \ 


A 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


‘‘Do  you  know  of  a quiet  hotel?  I can  send  for  my 
maid  in  the  morning.” 

“An  hotel — here — that  you  can  go  to  alone?  It’s  not 
possible.” 

She  met  this  with  a pale  gleam  of  her  old  playfulness. 
“What  is,  then?  It’s  too  wet  to  sleep  in  the  gardens.” 

“But  there  must  be  some  one ” 

“Some  one  to  whom  I can  go?  Of  course — any  num' 
ber — but  at  this  hour?  You  see  my  change  of  plan  was 
rather  sudden ” 

“Good  God — if  you’d  listened  to  me!”  he  cried,  vent- 
ing his  helplessness  in  a burst  of  anger. 

She  still  held  him  olf  with  the  gentle  mockery  of  her 
smile.  “But  haven’t  I?”  she  rejoined.  “You  advised  me 
to  leave  the  yacht,  and  I ’m  leaving  it.” 

He  saw  then,  with  a pang  of  self-reproach,  that  she 
meant  neither  to  explain  nor  to  defend  herself;  that  by 
his  miserable  silence  he  had  forfeited  all  chance  of  help- 
ing her,  and  that  the  decisive  hour  was  past. 

She  had  risen,  and  stood  before  him  in  a kind  of 
clouded  majesty,  like  some  deposed  princess  moving 
tranquilly  to  exile. 

“Lily!”  he  exclaimed,  with  a note  of  despairing  ap- 
peal; but — “Oh,  not  now,”  she  gently  admonished  him; 
and  then,  in  all  the  sweetness  of  her  recovered  compo- 
sure: “Since  I must  find  shelter  somewhere,  and  since 

you’re  so  kindly  here  to  help  me ” 

[ 353  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


He  gathei’ed  himself  up  at  the  challenge.  “You  will 
do  as  I tell  you  ? There ’s  but  one  thing,  then ; you  must 
go  straight  to  your  cousins,  the  Stepneys.” 

“Oh — ” broke  from  her  with  a movement  of  instinc- 
tive resistance;  but  he  insisted;  “Come — it’s  late,  and 
you  must  appear  to  have  gone  there  directly.” 

He  had  drawn  her  hand  into  his  arm,  but  she  held 
him  back  with  a last  gesture  of  protest.  “I  can’t — I can’t 
— not  that — you  don’t  know  Gwen:  you  mustn’t  ask 
me!” 

“I  micst  ask  you — you  must  obey  me,”  he  persisted, 
though  infected  at  heart  by  her  own  fear. 

Her  voice  sank  to  a whisper:  “And  if  she  refuses 
— but,  “Oh,  tmst  me — trust  me!”  he  could  only  insist 
in  return ; and  yielding  to  his  touch,  she  let  him  lead 
her  back  in  silence  to  the  edge  of  the  square. 

In  the  cab  they  continued  to  remain  silent  through 
the  brief  drive  which  earned  them  to  the  illuminated 
portals  of  the  Stepneys’  hotel.  Here  he  left  her  outside, 
in  the  darkness  of  the  raised  hood,  while  his  name  was 
sent  up  to  Stepney,  and  he  paced  the  showy  hall,  await- 
ing the  latter’s  descent.  Ten  minutes  later  the  two  men 
passed  out  together  between  the  gold-laced  custodians 
of  the  threshold;  but  in  the  vestibule  Stepney  drew  up 
with  a last  flare  of  reluctance. 

“It ’s  understood,  then.?”  he  stipulated  nervously,  with 
his  hand  on  Selden’s  arm.  “She  leaves  tomorrow  by  the 
[ S54<  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

early  train — and  my  wife’s  asleep,  and  can’t  be  dis- 
turbed.” 


IV 

The  blinds  of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  drawing-room  were 
drawn  down  against  the  oppressive  June  sun,  and 
in  the  sultry  twilight  the  faces  of  her  assembled  rela- 
tives took  on  a fitting  shadow  of  bereavement. 

They  were  all  there:  Van  Alstynes,  Stepneys  and  Mel- 
sons — even  a stray  Peniston  or  two,  indicating,  by  a 
greater  latitude  in  dress  and  manner,  the  fact  of  remoter 
relationship  and  more  settled  hopes.  The  Peniston  side 
was,  in  fact,  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  the  bulk  of 
Mr.  Peniston’s  property  “went  back”;  while  the  direct 
connection  hung  suspended  on  the  disposal  of  his  widow’s 
private  fortune  and  on  the  uncertainty  of  its  extent. 
Jack  Stepney,  in  his  new  character  as  the  richest  nephew, 
tacitly  took  the  lead,  emphasizing  his  importance  by  the 
deeper  gloss  of  his  mourning  and  the  subdued  authority 
of  his  manner;  while  his  wife’s  bored  attitude  and  frivo- 
lous gown  proclaimed  the  heiress’s  disregard  of  the  in- 
significant interests  at  stake.  Old  Ned  Van  Alstyne,  seated 
next  to  her  in  a coat  that  made  affliction  dapper,  twirled 
his  white  moustache  to  conceal  the  eager  twitch  of  his 
lip  s;  and  Grace  Stepney,  red-nosed  and  smelling  of  crape, 
■whispered  emotionally  to  Mrs.  Herbert  Melson;  “I 
couldn’t  bear  to  see  the  Niagara  anywhere  else!” 

[ 355  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


A rustle  of  weeds  and  quick  tiu'ning  of  heads  hailed 
the  opening  of  the  door,  and  Lily  Bart  appeared,  tall 
and  noble  in  her  black  dress,  with  Gerty  Parish  at  her 
side.  The  women’s  faces,  as  she  paused  interrogatively 
on  the  threshold,  were  a study  in  hesitation.  One  or  two 
made  faint  motions  of  recognition,  which  might  have 
been  subdued  either  by  the  solemnity  of  the  scene,  or 
by  the  doubt  as  to  how  far  the  othei’S  meant  to  go ; Mrs. 
Jack  Stepney  gave  a careless  nod,  and  Grace  Stepney, 
with  a sepulchral  gesture,  indicated  a seat  at  her  side. 
But  Lily,  ignoring  the  invitation,  as  well  as  Jack  Step- 
ney’s official  attempt  to  direct  her,  moved  across  the 
room  with  her  smooth  free  gait,  and  seated  herself  in  a 
chair  which  seemed  to  have  been  purposely  placed  apart 
from  the  others. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  faced  her  family 
since  her  return  from  Europe,  two  weeks  earlier;  but  if 
she  perceived  any  uncertainty  in  their  welcome,  it  served 
only  to  add  a tinge  of  irony  to  the  usual  composure  of 
her  bearing.  The  shock  of  dismay  with  which,  on  the 
dock,  she  had  heard  from  Gerty  Parish  of  ]Mrs.  Penis- 
ton’s  sudden  death,  had  been  mitigated,  almost  at  once, 
by  the  irrepressible  thought  that  now,  at  last,  she  would 
be  able  to  pay  her  debts.  She  had  looked  forward  with 
considerable  uneasiness  to  her  first  encounter  with  her 
aunt.  Mrs.  Peniston  had  vehemently  opposed  her  niece’s 
departure  with  the  Dorsets,  and  had  marked  her  cou” 

r 356  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


tinued  disapproval  by  not  writing  during  Lily’s  absence. 
The  certainty  that  she  had  heard  of  the  rupture  with 
the  Dorsets  made  the  prospect  of  the  meeting  more  for- 
midable; and  how  should  Lily  have  repressed  a quick 
sense  of  relief  at  the  thought  that,  instead  of  undergoing 
the  anticipated  ordeal,  she  had  only  to  enter  gracefully 
on  a long-assured  inheritance  ? It  had  been,  in  the  conse- 
, crated  phrase,  “always  understood”  that  Mrs.  Peniston 
was  to  provide  handsomely  for  her  niece;  and  in  the  lat- 
ter’s mind  the  understanding  had  long  since  crystallized 
into  fact. 

“She  gets  everything,  of  course — I don’t  see  what 
we’re  here  for,”  Mrs.  Jack  Stepney  remarked  with  care- 
less loudness  to  Ned  Van  Alstyne;  and  the  latter’s  de- 
precating murmur — “Julia  was  always  a just  woman” 
— might  have  been  interpreted  as  signifying  either  ac- 
quiescence or  doubt. 

“Well,  it’s  only  about  four  hundred  thousand,”  Mrs, 
Stepney  rejoined  with  a yawn;  and  Grace  Stepney,  in 
the  silence  produced  by  the  lawyer’s  preliminary  cough, 
was  heard  to  sob  out:  “They  won’t  find  a towel  missing 
— I went  over  them  with  her  the  very  day ” 

Lily,  oppressed  by  the  close  atmosphere,  and  the  sti- 
fling odour  of  fresh  mourning,  felt  her  attention  stray- 
ing as  Mrs.  Peniston’s  lawyer,  solemnly  erect  behind  the 
Buhl  table  at  the  end  of  the  room,  began  to  rattle  through 
the  preamble  of  the  will. 

[ 357  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“It’s  like  being  in  chvirch,”  she  reflected,  wondering 
vaguely  where  Gwen  Stepney  had  got  such  an  awdul  hat. 
Then  she  noticed  how  stout  Jack  had  grown — he  would 
soon  be  almost  as  plethoric  as  Herbert  Melson,  who  sat 
a few  feet  off,  breathing  puffily  as  he  leaned  his  black- 
gloved  hands  on  his  stick. 

“I  wonder  why  rich  people  always  grow  fat — I sup- 
pose it ’s  because  there ’s  nothing  to  worry  them.  If  I in- 
herit, I shall  have  to  be  careful  of  my  figure,”  she  mused, 
while  the  lawyer  droned  on  through  a labyrinth  of  lega- 
cies. The  servants  came  first,  then  a few  charitable  insti- 
tutions, then  several  remoter  Melsons  and  Stepneys,  who 
stirred  consciously  as  their  names  rang  out,  and  then  sub- 
sided into  a state  of  impassiveness  befitting  the  solemnity 
of  the  occasion.  Ned  Van  Alst}me,  Jack  Stepney,  and  a 
cousin  or  two  followed,  each  coupled  with  the  mention 
of  a few  thousands  : Lily  wondered  that  Grace  Stepney 
was  not  among  them.  Then  she  heard  her  own  name — 
“to  my  niece  Lily  Bart  ten  thousand  dollars — ” and 
after  that  the  lawyer  again  lost  himself  in  a coil  of  unin- 
telligible periods,  from  which  the  concluding  phrase 
flashed  out  with  startling  distinctness:  “and  the  residue 
of  my  estate  to  my  dear  cousin  and  name-sake,  Grace 
Julia  Stepney.” 

There  was  a subdued  gasp  of  sm’prise,  a rapid  turning 
of  heads,  and  a surging  of  sable  figures  toward  the  cor- 
ner in  which  Miss  Stepney  wailed  out  her  sense  of  un- 
[ 358  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


worthiness  through  the  crumpled  ball  of  a black-edged 
handkerchief. 

Lily  stood  apart  from  the  general  movement,  feeling 
herself  for  the  fii’st  time  utterly  alone.  No  one  looked  at 
her,  no  one  seemed  aware  of  her  presence;  she  was  prob- 
ing the  very  depths  of  insignificance.  And  under  her  sense 
of  the  collective  indifference  came  the  acuter  pang  of 
hopes  deceived.  Disinherited — she  had  been  disinherited 
— and  for  Grace  Stepney!  She  met  Gerty’s  lamentable 
eyes,  fixed  on  her  in  a despairing  effort  at  consolation, 
and  the  look  brought  her  to  herself.  There  was  something 
to  be  done  before  she  left  the  house : to  be  done  with  all  the 
nobility  she  knew  how  to  put  into  such  gestures.  She  ad- 
vanced to  the  group  about  Miss  Stepney,  and  holding  out 
her  hand  said  simply:  “ Dear  Grace,  I am  so  glad.” 

The  other  ladies  had  fallen  back  at  her  approach,  and 
a space  created  itself  about  her.  It  widened  as  she  turned 
to  go,  and  no  one  advanced  to  fill  it  up.  She  paused  a 
moment,  glancing  about  her,  calmly  taking  the  measure 
of  her  situation.  She  heard  some  one  ask  a question  about 
the  date  of  the  will;  she  caught  a fragment  of  the  lawyer’s 
answer — something  about  a sudden  summons,  and  an 
“earlier  instrument.”  Then  the  tide  of  dispersal  began  to 
drift  past  her;  Mrs.  Jack  Stepney  and  Mrs.  Herbert  Mel- 
son  stood  on  the  doorstep  awaiting  their  motor;  a sympa- 
thizing group  escorted  Grace  Stepney  to  the  cab  it  was 
felt  to  be  fitting  she  should  take,  though  she  lived  but 
[ 389  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


a street  or  two  away;  and  Miss  Bart  and  Gerty  found 
themselves  almost  alone  in  the  purple  drawing-room, 
which  more  than  ever,  in  its  stuffy  dimness,  resembled  a 
well-kept  family  vault,  in  which  the  last  corpse  had  just 
been  decently  deposited. 

In  Gerty  Parish’s  sitting-room,  whither  a hansom  had 
can-ied  the  two  friends,  Lily  dropped  into  a chair  with  a 
faint  sound  of  laughter:  it  struck  her  as  a humorous  coin- 
cidence that  her  aunt’s  legacy  should  so  nearly  represent 
the  amount  of  her  debt  to  Trenor.  The  need  of  dischar- 
ging that  debt  had  regisserted  itself  with  increased  ur- 
gency since  her  return  to  America,  and  she  spoke  her 
first  thought  in  saying  to  the  anxiously  hovering  Gerty : 
“I  wonder  when  the  legacies  will  be  paid.” 

But  Miss  Parish  could  not  pause  over  the  legacies;  she 
broke  into  a larger  indignation.  “Oh,  Lily,  it’s  unjust; 
it’s  cruel — Grace  Stepney  must  feel  she  has  no  right  to 
all  that  money!” 

“Any  one  who  knew  how’  to  please  Aunt  Julia  has  a 
right  to  her  money,”  Miss  Bart  rejoined  philosophically. 

“But  she  w'as  devoted  to  you — she  led  every  one  to 
think ’’Gerty  checked  herself  in  evident  embarrass- 

ment, and  Miss  Bart  turned  to  her  w ith  a direct  look. 
“Gerty,  be  honest:  this  will  w^as  made  only  six  weeks  ago. 
She  had  heard  of  my  break  with  the  Dorsets.'”’ 

“Every  one  heard,  of  course,  that  there  had  been 

[ 360  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


some  disagreement — some  misunderstanding ” 

“Did  she  hear  that  Bertha  turned  me  ofF  the  yacht?” 

“Lily!” 

“That  was  what  happened,  you  know.  She  said  I was 
trying  to  marry  George  Dorset.  She  did  it  to  make  him 
think  she  was  jealous.  Isn’t  that  what  she  told  Gwen 
Stepney?” 

“I  don’t  know — I don’t  listen  to  such  horrors.” 

“I  must  listen  to  them — I must  know  where  I stand.” 
She  paused,  and  again  sounded  a faint  note  of  derision. 
“Did  you  notice  the  women?  They  were  afraid  to  snub 
me  while  they  thought  I was  going  to  get  the  money — 
afterward  they  scuttled  off  as  if  I had  the  plague.”  Gerty 
remained  silent,  and  she  continued:  “I  stayed  on  to  see 
what  would  happen.  They  took  their  cue  from  Gwen 
Stepney  and  Lulu  Melson — I saw  them  watching  to  see 
what  Gwen  would  do.  — Gerty,  I must  know  just  what  is 
being  said  of  me.” 

“I  tell  you  I don’t  listen ” 

“One  hears  such  things  without  listening.”  She  rose 
and  laid  her  resolute  hands  on  Miss  Parish’s  shoulders. 
“Gerty,  are  people  going  to  cut  me?” 

“Your friends,  Lily — how  can  you  think  it?” 

“Who  are  one’s  friends  at  such  a time?  Who,  but 
you,  you  poor  trustful  darling  ? And  heaven  knows  what 
you  suspect  me  of!”  She  kissed  Gerty  with  a whimsical 
murmur.  “You’d  never  let  it  make  any  difference — but 
[ 361  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


then  you  ’re  fond  of  criminals,  Gerty ! How  about  the 
irreclaimable  ones,  though?  For  I’m  absolutely  impeni- 
tent, you  know.” 

She  drew  herself  up  to  the  full  height  of  her  slender 
majesty,  towering  like  some  dark  angel  of  defiance  above 
the  troubled  Gerty,  who  could  only  falter  out:  “Lily, 
Lily — how  can  you  laugh  about  such  things?” 

“So  as  not  to  weep,  perhaps.  But  no — I’m  not  of 
the  tearful  order.  I discovered  early  that  crying  makes 
my  nose  red,  and  the  knowledge  has  helped  me  through 
several  painful  episodes.”  She  took  a restless  turn  about 
the  room,  and  then,  reseating  herself,  lifted  the  bright 
mockery  of  her  eyes  to  Gerty’s  anxious  countenance. 

“ I should  n’t  have  minded,  you  know,  if  I ’d  got  the 
money — ’’and  at  Miss  Parish’s  protesting  “Oh!”  she 
repeated  calmly:  “Not  a straw,  my  dear;  for,  in  the  first 
place,  they  would  n’t  have  quite  dared  to  ignore  me ; 
and  if  they  had,  it  would  n’t  have  mattered,  because  I 
should  have  been  independent  of  them.  But  now — !”  Tlie 
irony  faded  from  her  eyes,  and  she  bent  a clouded  face 
upon  her  friend. 

“How  can  you  talk  so,  Lily?  Of  course  the  money 
ought  to  have  been  yours,  but  after  all  that  makes  no 

difference.  The  important  thing ” Gerty  paused,  and 

then  continued  firmly:  “The  important  thing  is  that 
you  should  clear  yourself — should  tell  your  fi’iends  the 
whole  trath.” 


[ 36S  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


•‘The  whole  truth?”  Miss  Bart  laughed.  “What  is 
truth?  Where  a woman  is  concerned,  it ’s  the  story  that ’s 
easiest  to  believe.  In  this  case  it ’s  a great  deal  easier  to 
believe  Bertha  Dorset’s  story  than  mine,  because  she  has 
a big  house  and  an  opera  box,  and  it’s  convenient  to  be 
on  good  terms  with  her.” 

Miss  Farish  still  fixed  her  with  an  anxious  gaze.  “But 
what  is  your  story,  Lily  ? I don’t  believe  any  one  knows 
it  yet.” 

“My  story? — I don’t  believe  I know  it  myself.  You 
see  I never  thought  of  preparing  a version  in  advance  as 
Bertha  did — and  if  I had,  I don’t  think  I should  take 
the  trouble  to  use  it  now.” 

But  Gerty  continued  with  her  quiet  reasonableness: 
“I  don’t  want  a version  prepared  in  advance — but  I want 
you  to  tell  me  exactly  what  happened  from  the  begin- 
ning.” 

“From  the  beginning?”  Miss  Bart  gently  mimicked 
her.  “ Dear  Gerty,  how  little  imagination  you  good  peo- 
ple have!  Why,  the  beginning  was  in  my  cradle,  I sup- 
pose— in  the  way  I was  brought  up,  and  the  things  I 
was  taught  to  care  for.  Or  no — I won’t  blame  anybody 
for  my  faults:  I’ll  say  it  was  in  my  blood,  that  I got  it 
from  some  wicked  pleasure-loving  ancestress,  who  re- 
acted against  the  homely  virtues  of  New  Amsterdam, 
and  wanted  to  be  back  at  the  court  of  the  Charleses!” 
And  as  Miss  Farish  continued  to  press  her  with  troubled 
[ 363  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


eyes,  she  went  on  impatiently;  “You  asked  me  just  now 
for  the  truth — well,  the  truth  about  any  girl  is  that 
once  she’s  talked  about  she’s  done  for;  and  the  more 
she  explains  her  case  the  worse  it  looks. — My  good 
Gerty,  you  don’t  happen  to  have  a cigarette  about  you?” 

In  her  stuffy  room  at  the  hotel  to  which  she  had  gone 
on  landing,  Lily  Bart  that  evening  reviewed  her  situa- 
tion. It  was  the  last  week  in  June,  and  none  of  her  friends 
were  in  town.  The  few  relatives  who  had  stayed  on,  or 
returned,  for  the  reading  of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  will,  had 
taken  flight  again  that  afternoon  to  Newport  or  Long 
Island;  and  not  one  of  them  had  made  any  proffer  of 
hospitality  to  Lily.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  found 
herself  utterly  alone  except  for  Gerty  Farish.  Even  at 
the  actual  moment  of  her  break  with  the  Dorsets  she 
had  not  had  so  keen  a sense  of  its  consequences,  for  the 
Duchess  of  Beltshire,  hearing  of  the  catastrophe  from 
Lord  Hubert,  had  instantly  offered  her  protection,  and 
under  her  sheltering  wing  Lily  had  made  an  almost  tri- 
umphant progress  to  London.  There  she  had  been  sorely 
tempted  to  linger  on  in  a society  w hich  asked  of  her  only 
to  amuse  and  charm  it,  without  enquiring  too  curiously 
how  she  had  acquired  her  gift  for  doing  so;  but  Selden, 
before  they  parted,  had  pressed  on  her  the  urgent  need 
of  returning  at  once  to  her  aunt,  and  Lord  Hubert,  when 
he  presently  reappeared  in  London,  abounded  in  the 
[ 364  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

same  counsel.  Lily  did  not  need  to  be  told  that  the 
Duchess’s  championship  was  not  the  best  road  to  social 
rehabilitation,  and  as  she  was  besides  aware  that  her 
noble  defender  might  at  any  moment  drop  her  in  favour 
of  a new  pyoUgee,  she  reluctantly  decided  to  return  to 
America.  But  she  had  not  been  ten  minutes  on  her  na- 
tive shore  before  she  realized  that  she  had  delayed  too 
long  to  regain  it.  The  Dorsets,  the  Stepneys,  the  Brys — 
all  the  actors  and  witnesses  in  the  miserable  drama — • 
had  preceded  her  with  their  version  of  the  case;  and, 
even  had  she  seen  the  least  chance  of  gaining  a hearing 
for  her  own,  some  obscure  disdain  and  reluctance  would 
have  restrained  her.  She  knew  it  was  not  by  explanations 
and  counter-charges  that  she  could  ever  hope  to  recover 
her  lost  standing;  but  even  had  she  felt  the  least  trust 
in  their  efficacy,  she  would  stiU  have  been  held  back  by 
the  feeling  which  had  kept  her  from  defending  herself  to 
Gerty  Farish — a feeling  that  was  half  pride  and  half 
humiliation.  For  though  she  knew  she  had  been  ruth- 
lessly sacrificed  to  Bertha  Dorset’s  determination  to  win 
back  her  husband,  and  though  her  own  relation  to  Dor- 
:et  had  been  that  of  the  merest  good-fellowship,  yet  she 
nad  been  perfectly  aware  from  the  outset  that  her  part 
in  the  affair  was,  as  Carry  Fisher  brutally  put  it,  to 
jlistract  Dorset’s  attention  from  his  wife.  That  was  what 
ihe  was  “there  for”;  it  was  the  price  she  had  chosen  to 
pay  for  three  months  of  luxury  and  freedom  from  care 
[ 365  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Her  habit  of  resolutely  facing  the  facts,  in  her  rare  mo- 
ments of  introspection,  did  not  now  allow  her  to  put  any 
false  gloss  on  the  situation.  She  had  suffered  for  the  very 
faithfulness  with  which  she  had  carried  out  her  part  of 
the  tacit  compact,  but  the  part  was  not  a handsome  one 
at  best,  and  she  saw  it  now  in  all  the  ugliness  of  failure. 

She  saw,  too,  in  the  same  uncompromising  light,  the 
train  of  consequences  resulting  from  that  failure;  and 
these  became  clearer  to  her  with  every  day  of  her  weary 
lingering  in  town.  She  stayed  on  partly  for  the  comfort 
of  Gerty  Parish’s  nearness,  and  partly  for  lack  of  know- 
ing where  to  go.  She  understood  well  enough  the  nature 
of  the  task  before  her.  She  must  set  out  to  regain,  little 
by  little,  the  position  she  had  lost;  and  the  fii-st  step  in 
the  tedious  task  was  to  find  out,  as  soon  as  possible,  on 
how  many  of  her  friends  she  could  count.  Her  hopes  were 
mainly  centred  on  Mrs.  Trenor,  who  had  treasures  of 
easy-going  tolerance  fdr  those  who  were  amusing  or  use- 
ful to  her,  and  in  the  noisy  rush  of  whose  existence  the 
still  small  voice  of  detraction  was  slow  to  make  itself 
heard.  But  Judy,  though  she  must  have  been  apprised 
of  Miss  Bart’s  return,  had  not  even  recognized  it  by  the 
formal  note  of  condolence  which  her  friend’s  bereave- 
ment demanded.  Any  advance  on  Lily’s  side  might  have 
been  perilous:  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  trust  to 
the  happy  chance  of  an  accidental  meeting,  and  Lily 
knew  that,  even  so  late  in  the  season,  there  was  always 
[ 366  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


a hope  of  running  across  her  friends  in  their  frequent 
passages  through  town. 

To  this  end  she  assiduously  showed  herself  at  the  re- 
staurants they  frequented,  where,  attended  by  the  trou- 
bled Gerty,  she  lunched  luxuriously,  as  she  said,  on  her 
expectations. 

“My  dear  Gerty,  you  would  n’t  have  me  let  the  head- 
waiter  see  that  I ’ve  nothing  to  live  on  but  Aunt  Julia’s 
legacy  ? Think  of  Grace  Stepney’s  satisfaction  if  she  came 
in  and  found  us  lunching  on  cold  mutton  and  tea ! What 
sweet  shall  we  have  today,  dear — Coupe  Jacques  or 
Peches  d la  Melba?"" 

She  dropped  the  menu  abruptly,  with  a quick  height- 
ening of  colour,  and  Gerty,  following  her  glance,  was 
aware  of  the  advance,  from  an  inner  room,  of  a party 
headed  by  Mrs.  Trenor  and  Carry  Fisher.  It  was  impossi- 
ble for  these  ladies  and  their  companions — among  whom 
Lily  had  at  once  distinguished  both  Trenor  and  Rose- 
dale — not  to  pass,  in  going  out,  the  table  at  which  the 
two  girls  were  seated;  and  Gerty ’s  sense  of  the  fact  be- 
trayed itself  in  the  helpless  trepidation  of  her  manner. 
Miss  Bart,  on  the  contrary,  borne  forward  on  the  wave  of 
her  buoyant  grace,  and  neither  shrinking  from  her  friends 
nor  appearing  to  lie  in  wait  for  them,  gave  to  the  en- 
counter the  touch  of  naturalness  which  she  could  im- 
part to  the  most  strained  situations.  Such  embarrassment 
as  was  shown  was  on  Mrs.  Trenor’s  side,  and  manifested 
[ 367  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

itself  in  the  mingling  of  exaggerated  warmth  ’with  im- 
perceptible reservations.  Her  loudly  affirmed  pleasure  at 
seeing  Miss  Bart  took  the  form  of  a nebulous  general- 
ization, which  included  neither  enquiries  as  to  her  future 
nor  the  expression  of  a definite  wish  to  see  her  again. 
Lily,  well-versed  in  the  language  of  these  omissions,  knew 
that  they  were  equally  intelligible  to  the  other  members 
of  the  party ; even  Rosedale,  flushed  as  he  was  with  the 
importance  of  keeping  such  company,  at  once  took  the 
temperature  of  Mrs.  Trenor’s  cordiality,  and  reflected  it 
in  his  off-hand  greeting  of  Miss  Bart.  Trenor,  red  and 
uncomfortable,  had  cut  short  his  salutations  on  the  pre- 
text of  a word  to  say  to  the  head- waiter;  and  the  rest 
of  the  group  soon  melted  away  in  Mrs.  Trenor’s  wake. 

It  was  over  in  a moment — the  waiter,  menu  in  hand, 
still  hung  on  the  result  of  the  choice  between  Coupe 
Jacques  and  P idles  a la  Melba — but  ^liss  Bart,  in  the 
interval,  had  taken  the  measure  of  her  fate.  Where  Judy 
Trenor  led,  all  the  world  would  follow ; and  Lily  had  the 
doomed  sense  of  the  castaway  who  has  signalled  in  vain 
to  fleeing  sails. 

In  a flash  she  remembered  Mrs.  Trenor’s  complaints 
of  Carry  Fisher’s  rapacity,  and  saw  that  they  denoted 
an  unexpected  acquaintance  with  her  husband’s  private 
affairs.  In  the  large  tumultuous  disorder  of  the  life  at 
Bellomont,  where  no  one  seemed  to  have  time  to  observe 
any  one  else,  and  private  aims  and  pei-sonal  interests  were 
[ 368  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


swept  along  unheeded  in  the  rush  of  collective  activities, 
Lily  had  fancied  herself  sheltex’ed  from  inconvenient 
scrutiny;  but  if  Judy  knew  when  Mrs.  Fisher  borrowed 
money  of  her  husband,  was  she  likely  to  ignore  the  same 
transaction  on  Lily’s  part?  If  she  was  careless  of  his 
affections  she  was  plainly  jealous  of  his  pocket;  and  in 
that  fact  Lily  read  the  explanation  of  her  rebuff.  The 
immediate  result  of  these  conclusions  was  the  passion- 
ate resolve  to  pay  back  her  debt  to  Trenor.  That  obli- 
gation discharged,  she  would  have  but  a thousand  dol- 
lars of  Mrs.  Peniston’s  legacy  left,  and  nothing  to  live 
on  but  her  own  small  income,  which  was  considerably 
less  than  Gerty  Farish’s  wretched  pittance ; but  this 
consideration  gave  way  to  the  imperative  claim  of  her 
wounded  pride.  She  must  be  quits  with  the  Trenors  first ; 
after  that  she  would  take  thought  for  the  future. 

In  her  ignorance  of  legal  procrastinations  she  had  sup- 
posed that  her  legacy  would  be  paid  over  within  a few 
days  of  the  reading  of  her  aunt’s  will;  and  after  an  in- 
terval of  anxious  suspense,  she  wrote  to  enquire  the 
cause  of  the  delay.  There  was  another  interval  before 
Mrs.  Peniston’s  lawyer,  who  was  also  one  of  the  execu- 
tors, replied  to  the  effect  that,  some  questions  having 
arisen  relative  to  the  interpretation  of  the  will,  he  and 
his  associates  might  not  be  in  a position  to  pay  the  lega- 
cies till  the  close  of  the  twelvemonth  legally  allotted  for 
their  settlement.  Bewildered  and  indignant,  Lily  resolved 

[ 369  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


to  try  the  effect  of  a pei-sonal  appeal;  but  she  returned 
from  her  expedition  with  a sense  of  the  powerlessness  of 
beauty  and  charm  against  the  unfeeling  processes  of  the 
lar^.  It  seemed  intolerable  to  live  on  for  another  year 
under  the  weight  of  her  debt;  and  in  her  extremity  she 
decided  to  turn  to  Miss  Stepney,  who  still  lingered  in 
town,  immersed  in  the  delectable  duty  of  “going  over” 
her  benefactress’s  effects.  It  was  bitter  enough  for  Lily  to 
ask  a favour  of  Grace  Stepney,  but  the  alternative  was 
bitterer  still;  and  one  morning  she  presented  herself  at 
Mrs.  Peniston’s,  where  Grace,  for  the  facilitation  of  her 
pious  task,  had  taken  up  a provisional  abode. 

Tlie  strangeness  of  entering  as  a suppliant  the  house 
where  she  had  so  long  commanded,  increased  Lily’s  de- 
sire to  shorten  the  ordeal;  and  when  JMiss  Stepney  en- 
tered the  darkened  drawing-room,  rustling  with  the  best 
quality  of  crape,  her  visitor  went  straight  to  the  point: 
would  she  be  willing  to  advance  the  amount  of  the  ex- 
legacy.'* 

Grace,  in  reply,  wept  and  wondered  at  the  request, 
bemoaned  the  inexorableness  of  the  law,  and  was  aston- 
ished that  Lily  had  not  realized  the  exact  similarity  of 
their  positions.  Did  she  think  that  only  the  payment  of 
the  legacies  had  been  delayed.^  MTy,  Miss  Stepney  her- 
self had  not  received  a penny  of  her  inheritance,  and 
was  paying  rent — yes,  actually! — for  the  privilege  of 
living  in  a house  that  belonged  to  her.  She  was  sure  it 
[ 370  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


was  not  what  poor  dear  cousin  Julia  would  have  wished 
— she  had  told  the  executors  so  to  their  faces;  but  they 
were  inaccessible  to  reason,  and  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  to  wait.  Let  Lily  take  example  by  her,  and  be  pa- 
tient— let  them  both  remember  how  beautifully  patient 
cousin  Julia  had  always  been. 

Lily  made  a movement  which  showed  her  imperfect 
assimilation  of  this  example.  “But  you  will  have  every- 
thing, Grace — it  would  be  easy  for  you  to  borrow  ten 
times  the  amount  I am  asking  for.” 

“Borrow — easy  for  me  to  borrow.?”  Grace  Stepney 
rose  up  before  her  in  sable  wrath.  “Do  you  imagine  for 
a moment  that  I would  raise  money  on  my  expectations 
from  cousin  Julia,  when  I know  so  well  her  unspeakable 
horror  of  every  transaction  of  the  sort.?  Why,  Lily,  if  you 
must  know  the  truth,  it  was  the  idea  of  your  being  in 
debt  that  brought  on  her  illness — you  remember  she 
had  a slight  attack  before  you  sailed.  Oh,  I don’t  know 
the  particulars,  of  course — I don’t  want  to  know  them 
— but  there  were  rumours  about  your  affairs  that  made 
her  most  unhappy — no  one  could  be  with  her  without 
seeing  that.  I can’t  help  it  if  you  are  offended  by  my 
telling  you  this  now — if  I can  do  anything  to  make  you 
realize  the  folly  of  your  course,  and  how  deeply  she  dis- 
approved of  it,  I shall  feel  it  is  the  truest  way  of  making 
up  to  you  for  her  loss.” 


[ 371  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


V 

IT  seemed  to  Lily,  as  Mrs.  Peniston’s  door  closed  on 
her,  that  she  was  taking  a final  leave  of  her  old  life. 
The  future  stretched  before  her  dull  and  bare  as  the 
deserted  length  of  Fifth  Avenue,  and  opportunities 
showed  as  meagrely  as  the  few  cabs  trailing  in  quest  of 
fares  that  did  not  come.  The  completeness  of  the  ana- 
logy was,  however,  disturbed  as  she  reached  the  sidewalk 
by  the  rapid  approach  of  a hansom  which  pulled  up  at 
sight  of  her. 

From  beneath  its  luggage-laden  top,  she  caught  the 
wave  of  a signalling  hand;  and  the  next  moment  Mrs. 
Fisher,  springing  to  the  street,  had  folded  her  in  a de- 
monstrative embrace. 

“My  dear,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  you  ’re  still  in  town.-* 
When  I saw  you  the  other  day  at  Sherry’s  I did  n’t  have 

time  to  ask ” She  broke  off,  and  added  with  a burst 

of  frankness:  “The  truth  is  I was  horrid,  Lily,  and  I’ve 
ivanted  to  tell  you  so  ever  since.” 

“Oh ” Miss  Bart  protested,  drawing  back  from 

her  penitent  clasp;  but  Mi’s.  Fisher  went  on  with  her 
usual  directness : “Look  here,  Lily,  don’t  let ’s  beat  about 
the  bush:  half  the  trouble  in  life  is  caused  by  pretend- 
ing there  is  n’t  any.  That ’s  not  my  way,  and  I can  only 
say  I ’m  thoroughly  ashamed  of  myself  for  following  the 
other  women’s  lead.  But  we’ll  talk  of  that  by  and  bye 
[ 372  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


— tell  me  now  where  you’re  staying  and  what  your 
plans  are.  I don’t  suppose  you  ’re  keeping  house  in  there 
with  Grace  Stepney,  eh.?* — and  it  struck  me  you  might 
be  rather  at  loose  ends.” 

In  Lily’s  present  mood  there  was  no  resisting  the 
honest  friendliness  of  this  appeal,  and  she  said  with  a 
smile:  “I  am  at  loose  ends  for  the  moment,  but  Gerty 
Parish  is  still  in  town,  and  she ’s  good  enough  to  let  me 
be  with  her  whenever  she  can  spare  the  time.” 

Mrs.  Fisher  made  a slight  grimace.  “H’m — that’s  a 
temperate  joy.  Oh,  I know  — Gerty ’s  a trump,  and  worth 
all  the  rest  of  us  put  together;  but  a la  longue  you’re 
used  to  a little  higher  seasoning,  are  n’t  you,  dear.?  And 
besides,  I suppose  she  ’ll  be  off  herself  before  long — the 
first  of  August,  you  say.?  Well,  look  here,  you  can’t  spend 
your  summer  in  town ; we  ’ll  talk  of  that  later  too.  But 
meanwhile,  what  do  you  say  to  putting  a few  things  in 
a trunk  and  coming  down  with  me  to  the  Sam  Gormers’ 
tonight.?” 

And  as  Lily  stared  at  the  breathless  suddenness  of  the 
suggestion,  she  continued  with  her  easy  laugh:  “You 
don’t  know  them  and  they  don’t  know  you;  but  that 
don’t  make  a rap  of  difference.  They ’ve  taken  the  Van 
Alstyne  place  at  Roslyn,  and  I ’ve  got  carte  blanche  to 
bring  my  friends  down  there — the  more  the  merrier. 
They  do  things  awfully  well,  and  there ’s  to  be  rather  a 

jolly  party  there  this  week ” she  broke  off,  checked 

[ 373  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


by  an  undefinable  change  in  Miss  Bart’s  expression.  “Oh^ 
I don’t  mean  your  particular  set,  you  know : rather  a dif- 
ferent crowd,  but  very  good  fun.  The  fact  is,  the  Gormers 
have  struck  out  on  a line  of  their  own:  what  they  want 
is  to  have  a good  time,  and  to  have  it  in  their  own  way. 
They  gave  the  other  thing  a few  months’  trial,  under  my 
distinguished  auspices,  and  they  were  really  doing  ex- 
tremely well — getting  on  a good  deal  faster  than  the 
Brys,  just  because  they  didn’t  care  as  much — but  sud- 
denly they  decided  that  the  whole  business  bored  them, 
and  that  what  they  wanted  was  a crowd  they  could  really 
feel  at  home  with.  Rather  original  of  them,  don’t  you 
think  so?  Mattie  Gormer  has  got  aspirations  still;  women 
always  have;  but  she ’s  awfully  easy-going,  and  Sam  won’t 
be  bothered,  and  they  both  like  to  be  the  most  impor- 
tant people  in  sight,  so  they ’ve  started  a sort  of  contin- 
uous performance  of  their  own,  a kind  of  social  Coney 
Island,  where  everybody  is  welcome  who  can  make  noise 
enough  and  does  n’t  put  on  airs,  / think  it’s  awfully  good 
fun  myself — some  of  the  artistic  set,  you  know,  any 
pretty  actress  that ’s  going,  and  so  on.  This  week,  for  in- 
stance, they  have  Audi’ey  Anstell,  who  made  such  a hit 
last  spring  in  ‘Tire  Winning  of  Winny’;  and  Paul  Mor- 
peth— he ’s  painting  Mattie  Gormer— and  the  Dick  Bel- 
lingers, and  Kate  Corby — well,  every  one  you  can  think 
of  who’s  jolly  and  makes  a row.  Now  don’t  stand  there 
with  your  nose  in  the  air,  my  dear — it  will  be  a good 
[ 374  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


deal  better  than  a broiling  Sunday  in  town,  and  you’ll 
find  clever  people  as  well  as  noisy  ones — Morpeth,  who 
admires  Mattie  enormously,  always  brings  one  or  two 
of  his  set.” 

Mrs.  Fisher  drew  Lily  toward  the  hansom  with  friendly 
authority.  “Jump  in  now,  there’s  a dear,  and  we  ’ll  drive 
round  to  your  hotel  and  have  your  things  packed,  and 
then  we’ll  have  tea,  and  the  two  maids  can  meet  us  at 
the  train.” 

It  was  a good  deal  better  than  a broiling  Sunday  in  town 
— of  that  no  doubt  remained  to  Lily  as,  reclining  in  the 
shade  of  a leafy  verandah,  she  looked  seaward  across  a 
stretch  of  greensward  picturesquely  dotted  with  groups 
of  ladies  in  lace  raiment  and  men  in  tennis  flannels.  The 
huge  Van  Alstyne  house  and  its  rambling  dependencies 
were  packed  to  their  fullest  capacity  with  the  Gormers’ 
week-end  guests,  who  now,  in  the  radiance  of  the  Sunday 
forenoon,  were  dispersing  themselves  over  the  grounds  in 
quest  of  the  various  distractions  the  place  afforded:  dis- 
tractions ranging  from  tennis-courts  to  shooting-gal- 
leries, from  bridge  and  whiskey  within  doors  to  motors 
and  steam-launches  without.  Lily  had  the  odd  sense  of 
having  been  caught  up  into  the  crowd  as  carelessly  as  a 
passenger  is  gathered  in  by  an  express  train.  The  blonde 
and  genial  Mrs.  Gormer  might,  indeed,  have  figured  the 
conductor,  calmly  assigning  seats  to  the  rush  of  travel- 
[ 375  J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


lers,  while  Carry  Fisher  represented  the  porter  pushing 
their  bags  into  place,  giving  them  their  numbers  for  the 
dining-car,  and  warning  them  when  their  station  w'as  at 
hand.  The  train,  meanwhile,  had  scarcely  slackened  speed 
— life  whizzed  on  with  a deafening  rattle  and  roar,  in 
which  one  traveller  at  least  found  a welcome  refuge  from 
-the  sound  of  her  own  thoughts.  ^ 

The  Gormer  milieu  represented  a social  out-skirt  which 
Lily  had  always  fastidiously  avoided;  but  it  struck  her, 
now  that  she  was  in  it,  as  only  a flamboyant  copy  of  her 
own  world,  a caricature  approximating  the  real  thing  as 
the  “society  play”  approaches  the  manners  of  the  draw- 
ing-room. The  people  about  her  were  doing  the  same 
things  as  the  Trenors,  the  Van  Osburghs  and  the  Dor- 
sets:  the  difference  lay  in  a hundred  shades  of  aspect  and 
manner,  from  the  pattern  of  the  men’s  waistcoats  to  the 
inflexion  of  the  women’s  voices.  Everything  w^as  pitched 
in  a higher  key,  and  there  was  more  of  each  thing:  more 
noise,  more  colour,  more  champagne,  more  familiarity — 
but  also  greater  good-nature,  less  rivalry,  and  a fresher 
capacity  for  enjoyment.  ^ 

Miss  Bart’s  arrival  had  been  welcomed  with  an  un- 
critical friendliness  that  first  irritated  her  pride  and  then 
brought  her  to  a sharp  sense  of  her  own  situation — of 
the  place  in  life  which,  for  the  moment,  she  must  accept 
and  make  the  best  of.  These  people  knew  her  story — of 
that  her  first  long  talk  with  Carry  Fisher  had  left  no 
<,  376  ] 


I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


'‘queer”  episode — but  instead  of  shrinking,  from  her  as 
her  own  friends  had  done,  they  received  her  without  ques- 
tion into  the  easy  promisQuity  of  their  lives.  They  swal- 
lowed her  past*  as  easily  as  they  did  Miss  Anstell’s,  and 
with  no  apparent  sense  of  any  difference  in  the  size  of  the 
mouthful;  all  they  asked  was  that  she  should — in  her 
own  way,  for  they  recognized  a diversity  of  gifts — con- 
tribute as  much  to  the  general  amusement  as  that  grace- 
ful actress,  whose  talents,  when  off  the  stage,  were  of  the 
most  varied  order.  Lily  felt  at  once  that  any  tendency 
to  be  “stuck-up,”  to  mark  a sense  of  differences  and  dis- 
tinctions, would  be  fatal  to  her  continuance  in  the  Gor- 
mer  set.  To  be  taken  in  on  such  terms — and  into  such 
a world! — was  hard  enough  to  the  lingering  pride  in 
her;  but  she  realized,  with  a pang  of  self-contempt,  that 
to  be  excluded  from  it  would,  after  all,  be  harder  still, 
For,  almost  at  once,  she  had  felt  the  insidious  charm  of 
slipping  back  into  a life  where  every  material  difficulty 
was  smoothed  away.  The  sudden  escape  from  a stifling 
hotel  in  a dusty  deserted  city  to  the  space  and  luxury 
of  a great  country-house  fanned  by  sea  breezes,  had  pro- 
duced a state  of  moral  lassitude  agreeable  enough  after 
the  nervous  tension  and  physical  discomfort  of  the  past 
weeks.  For  the  moment  she  must  yield  to  the  refresh- 
ment her  senses  craved— after  that  she  would  reconsider 
her  situation,  and  take  counsel  with  her  dignity.  Her 

[ 877  ] 


IHE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


enjoyment  of  her  surroundings  was,  indeed,  tinged  by 
the  unpleasant  consideration  that  she  was  accepting  the 
hospitality  and  courting  the  approval  of  people  she  had 
(i  disdained  under  other  conditions.  But  she  was  growing 
less  sensitive  on  such  points : a hard  glaze  of  indifference 
was  fast  forming  over  her  delicacies  and  susceptibilities, 
and  each  concession  to  expediency  hardened  the  surface 
a little  more. 

On  the  Monday,  when  the  party  disbanded  with  up- 
roarious adieux,  the  return  to  town  threw  into  ytronger 
relief  the  charms  of  the  life  she  was  leaving.  Tlie  other 
guests  were  dispersing  to  take  up  the  same  existence  in 
a different  setting:  some  at  Newport,  some  at  Bar  Har- 
bour, some  in  the  elaborate  rusticity  of  an  Adirondack 
camp.  Even  Gerty  Parish,  who  welcomed  Lily’s  return 
with  tender  solicitude,  would  soon  be  preparing  to  join 
the  aunt  with  whom  she  spent  her  summers  on  Lake 
George:  only  Lily  herself  remained  without  plan  or  pur- 
pose, stranded  in  a backwater  of  the  great  cuirent  of 
pleasure.  But  Carry  Fisher,  who  had  insisted  on  trans- 
porting her  to  her  ovti  house,  where  she  herself  was  to 
perch  for  a day  or  two  on  the  way  to  the  Brys’  camp, 
came  to  the  rescue  with  a new  suggestion. 

“Look  here,  Lily — I’U  tell  you  what  it  is:  I want 
you  to  take  my  place  with  Mattie  Goraier  this  summer. 
They  ’re  taking  a party  out  to  Alaska  next  month  in 
their  private  car,  and  IMattie,  who  is  the  laziest  woman 
[ 878  3 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


alive,  wants  me  to  go  with  them,  and  relieve  her  of  the 
bother  of  arranging  things;  but  the  Brys  want  me  too 
— oh,  yes,  we’ve  made  it  up:  didn’t  I tell  you? — and, 
to  put  it  frankly,  though  I like  the  Gormers  best,  there ’s 
more  profit  for  me  in  the  Brys.  The  fact  is,  they  want 
to  try  Newport  this  summer,  and  if  I can  make  it  a suc- 
cess for  them  they — well,  they’ll  make  it  a success  for 
me.”  Mrs.  Fisher  clasped  her  hands  enthusiastically.  “ Do 
you  know,  Lily,  the  more  I think  of  my  idea  the  better 
I like  it — quite  as  much  for  you  as  for  myself.  The 
Gormers  have  both  taken  a tremendous  fancy  to  you, 
and  the  trip  to  Alaska  is — well — the  very  thing  I should 
want  for  you  just  at  present.” 

Miss  Bart  lifted  her  eyes  with  a keen  glance.  “To  take 
me  out  of  my  friends’  way,  you  mean?”  she  said  quietly; 
and  Mrs.  Fisher  fesponded  with  a deprecating  kiss:  “To 
keep  you  out  of  their  sight  tiU  they  realize  how  much 
they  miss  you.” 

Miss  Bart  went  with  the  Gormers  to  Alaska;  and  the 
expedition,  if  it  did  not  produce  the  effect  anticipated 
Dy  her  friend,  had  at  least  the  negative  advantage  of  re- 
moving her  from  the  fiery  centre  of  criticism  and  discus- 
sion. Gerty  Farish  had  opposed  the  plan  with  all  the 
energy  of  her  somewhat  inarticulate  nature.  She  had 
even  offered  to  give  up  her  visit  to  Lake  George,  and 
remain  in  town  with  Miss  Bart,  if  the  latter  would  re- 

[ 379  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


bounce  her  joui’ney ; but  Lily  could  disguise  her  real  dis- 
taste for  this  plan  under  a sufficiently  valid  reason. 

“You  dear  innocent,  don’t  you  see,”  she  protested, 
“that  Carry  is  quite  right,  and  that  I must  take  up  my 
usual  life,  and  go  about  among  people  as  much  as  pos- 
sible.? If  my  old  friends  choose  to  believe  lies  about  me 
I shall  have  to  make  new  ones,  that ’s  all ; and  you  know 
beggars  must  n’t  be  choosers.  Not  that  I don’t  like  Mat- 
tie  Gormer — Ido  like  her:  she’s  kind  and  honest  and 
unaffected;  and  don’t  you  suppose  I feel  grateful  to  her 
for  making  me  welcome  at  a time  when,  as  you ’ve  your- 
self seen,  my  own  family  have  unanimously  washed  their 
hands  of  me.?” 

Gerty  shook  her  head,  mutely  unconvinced.  She  felt 
not  only  that  Lily  was  cheapening  herself  by  making 
use  of  an  intimacy  she  would  never  have  cultivated  from 
choice,  but  that,  in  drifting  back  now  to  her  former  man- 
ner of  life,  she  was  forfeiting  her  last  chance  of  ever  es- 
caping from  it.  Gerty  had  but  an  obscure  conception  of 
what  Lily’s  actual  experience  had  been:  but  its  conse- 
quences had  established  a lasting  hold  on  her  pity  since 
the  memorable  night  when  she  had  offered  up  her  own 
secret  hope  to  her  friend’s  extremity.  To  characters  like 
Gerty’s  such  a sacrifice  constitutes  a moral  claim  on  the 
part  of  the  person  in  whose  behalf  it  has  been  made. 
Having  once  helped  Lily,  she  must  continue  to  help  her; 
and  helping  her,  must  believe  in  her,  because  faith  is  the 
f 380  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


main-spring  of  such  natures.  But  even  if  Miss  Bart,  aftei 
her  renewed  taste  of  the  amenities  of  life,  could  have  re- 
turned to  the  barrenness  of  a New  York  August,  miti- 
gated only  by  poor  Gerty’s  presence,  her  worldly  wisdom 
would  have  counselled  her  against  such  an  act  of  abne- 
gation. She  knew  that  Carry  Fisher  was  right:  that  an 
opportune  absence  might  be  the  first  step  toward  re- 
habilitation, and  that,  at  any  rate,  to  linger  on  in  town 
out  of  season  was  a fatal  admission  of  defeat. 

From  the  Gormers’  tumultuous  progress  across  their 
native  continent,  she  returned  with  an  altered  view  of 
her  situation.  The  renewed  habit  of  luxury — the  daily 
waking  to  an  assured  absence  of  care  and  presence  of 
material  ease — gradually  blunted  her  appreciation  of 
these  values,  and  left  her  more  conscious  of  the  void 
they  could  not  fill.  Mattie  Gormer’s  undiscriminating 
good-nature,  and  the  slap-dash  sociability  of  her  friends, 
who  treated  Lily  precisely  as  they  treated  each  other  — 
all  these  characteristic  notes  of  difference  began  to  wear 
upon  her  endurance ; and  the  more  she  saw  to  criticize 
in  her  companions,  the  less  justification  she  found  for 
making  use  of  them.  The  longing  to  get  back  to  her  for- 
mer surroundings  hardened  to  a fixed  idea;  but  with  the 
strengthening  of  her  purpose  came  the  inevitable  per- 
ception that,  to  attain  it,  she  must  exact  fresh  conces- 
sions from  her  pride.  These,  for  the  moment,  took  the 
unpleasant  form  of  continuing  to  cling  to  her  hosts  after 
[ 381  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

their  return  from  Alaska.  Little  as  she  was  in  the  key  of 
their  milieu,  her  immense  social  facility,  her  long  habit 
of  adapting  herself  to  others  without  suffering  her  own 
outline  to  be  blurred,  the  skilled  manipulation  of  all  the 
polished  implements  of  her  craft,  had  won  for  her  an 
important  place  in  the  Gormer  group.  If  their  resonant 
hilarity  could  never  be  hers,  she  contributed  a note  of  easy 
elegance  more  valuable  to  Mattie  Gormer  than  the  louder 
passages  of  the  band.  Sam  Gormer  and  his  special  cronies 
stood  indeed  a little  in  awe  of  her;  but  Mattie’s  follow- 
ing, headed  by  Paul  Morpeth,  made  her  feel  that  they 
prized  her  for  the  very  qualities  they  most  conspicu- 
ously lacked.  If  Morpeth,  whose  social  indolence  was  as 
great  as  his  artistic  activity,  had  abandoned  himself  to 
the  easy  current  of  the  Gormer  existence,  where  the 
minor  exactions  of  politeness  were  unknown  or  ignored, 
and  a man  could  either  break  his  engagements,  or  keep 
them  in  a painting-jacket  and  slippers,  he  still  preserved 
his  sense  of  differences,  and  his  appreciation  of  graces  he 
had  no  time  to  cultivate.  During  the  preparations  for 
the  Brys’  tableaux  he  had  been  immensely  struck  by 
Lily’s  plastic  possibilities — “not  the  face:  too  self-con- 
trolled  for  expression;  but  the  rest  of  her — gad,  what  a 
model  she’d  make!” — and  though  his  abhorrence  of  the 
world  in  which  he  had  seen  her  was  too  great  for  him 
to  think  of  seeking  her  there,  he  was  fully  alive  to  the 
privilege  of  having  her  to  look  at  and  listen  to  while  he 
[ 382  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


lounged  in  Mattie  Gormer’s  dishevelled  drawing-room. 

Lily  had  thus  formed,  in  the  tumult  of  her  surround- 
ings, a little  nucleus  of  friendly  relations  which  mitigated 
the  crudeness  of  her  course  in  lingering  with  the  Gor- 
mers  after  their  return.  Nor  was  she  without  pale  glimpses 
of  her  own  world,  especially  since  the  breaking-up  of  the 
Newport  season  had  set  the  social  current  once  more  to- 
ward Long  Island.  Kate  Corby,  whose  tastes  made  her 
as  promiscuous  as  Carry  Fisher  was  rendered  by  her  ne- 
cessities, occasionally  descended  on  the  Gonners,  where, 
after  a first  stare  of  surprise,  she  took  Lily’s  presence 
almost  too  much  as  a matter  of  course.  Mrs.  Fisher,  too, 
appearing  frequently  in  the  neighbourhood,  drove  over 
to  impart  her  experiences  and  give  Lily  what  she  called 
the  latest  report  from  the  weather-bureau ; and  the  latter, 
who  had  never  directly  invited  her  confidence,  could  yet 
talk  with  her  more  freely  than  with  Gerty  Farish,  in 
whose  presence  it  was  impossible  even  to  admit  the  ex- 
istence of  much  that  Mrs.  Fisher  conveniently  took  for 
granted. 

Mrs.  Fisher,  moreover,  had  no  embarrassing  curiosity. 
She  did  not  wish  to  probe  the  inwardness  of  Lily’s  situa- 
tion, but  simply  to  view  it  from  the  outside,  and  draw 
her  conclusions  accordingly;  and  these  conclusions,  at 
the  end  of  a confidential  talk,  she  summed  up  to  her 
friend  in  the  succinct  remark:  “You  must  marry  as  soon 
as  you  can.” 


[ 883  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lily  uttered  a faint  laugh — for  once  Mrs.  Fisher  lacked 
oiiginality,  “Do  you  mean,  like  Gerty  Farish,  to  recom- 
mend the  unfailing  panacea  of  ‘a  good  man’s  love’.^” 

“No — I don’t  think  either  of  my  candidates  would 
answer  to  that  description,”  said  Mrs.  Fisher  after  a 
pause  of  reflection. 

“Either.?  Are  there  actually  two.?” 

“Well,  perhaps  I ought  to  say  one  and  a half — for 
the  moment.” 

Miss  Bart  received  this  with  increasing  amusement. 
“Other  things  being  equal,  I think  I should  prefer  a 
half-husband;  who  is  he.?” 

“Don’t  fly  out  at  me  till  you  hear  my  reasons — George 
Dorset.” 

“Oh ” Lily  murmured  reproachfully;  but  Mrs. 

Fisher  pressed  on  unrebuffed.  “Well,  why  not?  They 
had  a few  weeks’  honeymoon  when  they  first  got  back 
from  Europe,  but  now  things  are  going  badly  wdth  them 
again.  Bertha  has  been  behaving  more  than  ever  like  a 
madwoman,  and  George’s  powers  of  credulity  are  very 
nearly  exhausted.  They  ’re  at  their  place  here,  you  know, 
and  I spent  last  Sunday  with  them.  It  was  a ghastly  party 
— no  one  else  but  poor  Neddy  Silverton,  who  looks  hke 
a galley-slave  (they  used  to  talk  of  my  making  that  poor 
boy  unhappy!) — and  after  luncheon  George  carried  me 
off*  on  a long  walk,  and  told  me  the  end  would  have  to 
come  soon.” 


[ 384.  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Miss  Bart  made  an  incredulous  gesture.  “As  far  as 
that  goes,  the  end  will  never  come — Bertha  will  always 
know  how  to  get  him  back  when  she  wants  him.” 

Mrs.  Fisher  continued  to  observe  her  tentatively.  “Not 
if  he  has  any  one  else  to  turn  to!  Yes — that’s  just  what 
it  comes  to:  the  poor  creature  can’t  stand  alone.  And  I 
remember  him  such  a good  fellow,  full  of  life  and  enthu- 
siasm.” She  paused,  and  went  on,  dropping  her  glance 
from  Lily’s:  “He  wouldn’t  stay  with  her  ten  minutes  if 
he  knew ” 

“Knew Miss  Bart  repeated. 

“What  you  must,  for  instance — with  the  opportuni- 
ties you’ve  had!  If  he  had  positive  proof,  I mean ” 

Lily  interrupted  her  with  a deep  blush  of  displeasure. 
“Please  let  us  drop  the  subject,  Carry:  it ’s  too  odious  to 
me.”  And  to  divert  her  companion’s  attention  she  added, 
with  an  attempt  at  lightness:  “And  your  second  candi- 
dateWe  must  not  forget  him.” 

Mrs.  Fisher  echoed  her  laugh.  “I  wonder  if  you  ’ll  cry 
out  just  as  loud  if  I say — Sim  Rosedale.?” 

Miss  Bart  did  not  cry  out:  she  sat  silent,  gazing 
thoughtfully  at  her  friend.  The  suggestion,  in  truth, 
gave  expression  to  a possibility  which,  in  the  last  weeks, 
had  more  than  once  recurred  to  her;  but  after  a moment 
she  said  carelessly:  “Mr.  Rosedale  wants  a wife  who  can 
establish  him  in  the  bosom  of  the  Van  Osburghs  and 
Trenors.” 


[ 385  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Mrs.  Fisher  caught  her  up  eagerly.  “And  so  you  could 
■ — with  his  money!  Don’t  you  see  how  beautifully  it 
would  work  out  for  you  both?” 

“I  don’t  see  any  way  of  making  him  see  it,”  Lily  re* 
turned,  with  a laugh  intended  to  dismiss  the  subject. 

But  in  reality  it  lingered  with  her  long  after  Mrs. 
Fisher  had  taken  leave.  She  had  seen  veiy^  little  of  Rose- 
dale  since  her  annexation  by  the  Gormers,  for  he  was 
still  steadily  bent  on  penetrating  to  the  inner  Paradise 
from  which  she  was  now  excluded;  but  once  or  twice, 
when  nothing  better  offered,  he  had  turned  up  for  a 
Sunday,  and  on  these  occasions  he  had  left  her  in  no 
doubt  as  to  his  view  of  her  situation.  That  he  still  ad- 
mired her  was,  more  than  ever,  offensively  evident;  for  in 
the  Gorraer  circle,  where  he  expanded  as  in  his  native 
element,  there  were  no  puzzling  conventions  to  check  the 
full  expression  of  his  approval.  But  it  was  in  the  quality 
of  his  admiration  that  she  read  his  shrewd  estimate  of  her 
case.  He  enjoyed  letting  the  Gormers  see  that  he  had 
known  “Miss  Lily” — she  was  “Miss  Lily”  to  him  now 
• — before  they  had  had  the  faintest  social  existence:  en- 
joyed more  especially  impressing  Paul  IMoi’peth  vith  the 
distance  to  which  their  intimacy  dated  back.  But  he  let 
it  be  felt  that  that  intimacy  was  a mere  ripple  on  the 
surface  of  a rushing  social  current,  the  kind  of  relaxation 
which  a man  of  large  interests  and  manifold  preoccupa- 
tions permit^'  himself  in  his  hours  of  ease. 

[ 386  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

The  necessity  of  accepting  this  view  of  their  past  re- 
lation, and  of  meeting  it  in  the  key  of  pleasantry  preva- 
lent  among  her  new  friends,  was  deeply  humiliating  to 
Lily.  But  she  dared  less  than  ever  to  quari’el  with  Rose- 
dale.  She  suspected  that  her  rejection  rankled  among  the 
most  unforgettable  of  his  rebuffs,  and  the  fact  that  he 
knew  something  of  her  wretched  transaction  with  Trenor, 
and  was  sure  to  put  the  basest  construction  on  it,  seemed 
to  place  her  hopelessly  in  his  power.  Yet  at  Carry  Fish- 
er’s suggestion  a new  hope  had  stirred  in  her.  Much  as 
she  disliked  Rosedale,  she  no  longer  absolutely  despised 
him.  For  he  was  gi’adually  attaining  his  object  in  life, 
and  that,  to  Lily,  was  always  less  despicable  than  to 
miss  it.  With  the  slow  unalterable  persistency  which  she 
had  always  felt  in  him,  he  was  making  his  way  through 
the  dense  mass  of  social  antagonisms.  Already  his  wealth, 
and  the  masterly  use  he  had  made  of  it,  were  giving  him 
an  enviable  prominence  in  the  world  of  affairs,  and  pla- 
cing Wall  Street  under  obligations  which  only  Fifth 
Avenue  could  repay.  In  response  to  these  claims,  his 
name  began  to  figure  on  municipal  committees  and 
charitable  boards;  he  appeared  at  banquets  to  distin- 
guished strangers,  and  his  candidacy  at  one  of  the  fash- 
ionable clubs  was  discussed  with  diminishing  opposition. 
He  had  figured  once  or  twice  at  the  Trenor  dinners, 
and  had  learned  to  speak  with  just  the  right  note  of 
disdain  of  the  big  Van  Osburgh  crushes;  and  all  he  now 
[ 38T  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

needed  was  a wife  whose  affiliations  would  shorten  the 
last  tedious  steps  of  his  ascent.  It  was  with  that  object 
that,  a year  earlier,  he  had  fixed  his  affections  on  Miss 
Bart;  but  in  the  interval  he  had  mounted  nearer  to 
the  goal,  while  she  had  lost  the  power  to  abbreviate  the 
remaining  steps  of  the  way.  All  this  she  saw  with  the 
clearness  of  vision  that  came  to  her  in  moments  of  de- 
spondency. It  was  success  that  dazzled  her — she  could 
distinguish  facts  plainly  enough  in  the  twilight  of  fail- 
ure. And  the  twilight,  as  she  now  sought  to  pierce  it, 
was  gradually  lighted  by  a faint  spark  of  reassurance. 
Under  the  utilitarian  motive  of  Rosedale’s  wooing  she 
had  felt,  clearly  enough,  the  heat  of  personal  inclination. 
She  would  not  have  detested  him  so  heartily  had  she  not 
known  that  he  dared  to  admire  her.  MTiat,  then,  if  the 
passion  persisted,  though  the  other  motive  had  ceased 
to  sustain  it?  She  had  never  even  tried  to  please  liim  — 
he  had  been  drawn  to  her  in  spite  of  her  manifest  dis- 
dain What  if  she  now  chose  to  exert  the  power  which, 
even  in  its  passive  state,  he  had  felt  so  strongly?  ^^^lat 
if  she  made  him  marry  her  for  love,  now  that  he  had  no 
other  reason  for  marrying  her? 

VI 

yi  S became  persons  of  their  rising  consequence,  the 
J~\  Gormers  were  engaged  in  building  a country- 
[ 388  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


house  on  Long  Island;  and  it  was  a part  of  Miss  Bart’s 
duty  to  attend  her  hostess  on  frequent  visits  of  inspec- 
tion to  the  new  estate.  There,  while  Mrs.  Gormer  plunged 
into  problems  of  lighting  and  sanitation,  Lily  had  leisure 
to  wander,  in  the  bright  autumn  air,  along  the  tree- 
fringed  bay  to  which  the  land  declined.  Little  as  she 
was  addicted  to  solitude,  there  had  come  to  be  moments 
when  it  seemed  a welcome  escape  from  the  empty  noises 
of  her  life.  She  was  weary  of  being  swept  passively  along 
a current  of  pleasure  and  business  in  which  she  had  no 
share;  weary  of  seeing  other  people  pursue  amusement 
and  squander  money,  while  she  felt  herself  of  no  more 
account  among  them  than  an  expensive  toy  in  the  hands 
of  a spoiled  child. 

It  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  that,  striking  back  from 
the  shore  one  morning  into  the  windings  of  an  unfamiliar 
lane,  she  came  suddenly  upon  the  figure  of  George  Dor- 
set. The  Dorset  place  was  in  the  immediate  neighbour- 
hood of  the  Gormers’  newly-acquired  estate,  and  in  her 
motor-flights  thither  with  Mrs.  Gormer,  Lily  had  caught 
one  or  two  passing  glimpses  of  the  couple;  but  they 
moved  in  so  different  an  orbit  that  she  had  not  consid- 
ered the  possibility  of  a direct  encounter. 

Dorset,  swinging  along  with  bent  head,  in  moody  ab- 
straction, did  not  see  Miss  Bart  till  he  was  close  upon 
her;  but  the  sight,  instead  of  bringing  him  to  a halt, 
as  she  had  half-expected,  sent  him  toward  her  with  an 
[ 389  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


eagerness  which  found  expression  in  his  opening  words. 

“Miss  Bart! — You’ll  shake  hands,  won’t  you?  I’ve 
been  hoping  to  meet  you — I should  have  written  to  you 
if  I ’d  dared.”  His  face,  with  its  tossed  red  hair  and  strag- 
gling moustache,  had  a driven  uneasy  look,  as  though 
life  had  become  an  unceasing  race  between  himself  and 
the  thoughts  at  his  heels. 

The  look  drew  a word  of  compassionate  greeting  from 
Lily,  and  he  pressed  on,  as  if  encouraged  by  her  tone; 
“I  wanted  to  apologize — to  ask  you  to  forgive  me  for 
the  miserable  part  I played ” 

She  checked  him  with  a quick  gesture.  “ Don’t  let  us 
speak  of  it : I was  very  sony  for  you,”  she  said,  with  a 
tinge  of  disdain  which,  as  she  instantly  perceived,  was 
not  lost  on  him. 

He  flushed  to  his  haggard  eyes,  flushed  so  cruelly  that 
she  repented  the  thrust.  “ Y ou  might  well  be ; you  don’t 
know — you  must  let  me  explain.  I was  deceived : abom- 
inably deceived ” 

“I  am  still  more  sorry  for  you,  then,”  she  interposed, 
without  irony;  “but  you  must  see  that  I am  not  exactly 
the  person  with  whom  the  subject  can  be  discussed.” 

He  met  this  with  a look  of  genuine  wonder.  “ MTiy 
not?  Isn’t  it  to  you,  of  all  people,  that  I owe  an  expla- 
nation  ” 

“No  explanation  is  necessary:  the  situation  was  per- 
fectly  clear  to  me.” 


[ 390  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Ah ” he  murmured,  his  head  drooping  again, 

and  his  irresolute  hand  switching  at  the  underbrush 
along  the  lane.  But  as  Lily  made  a movement  to  pass 
on,  he  broke  out  with  fresh  vehemence;  “Miss  Bart,  for 
God’s  sake  don’t  turn  from  me!  We  used  to  be  good 
friends — you  were  always  kind  to  me — and  you  don’t 
know  how  I need  a friend  now.” 

The  lamentable  weakness  of  the  words  roused  a motion 
of  pity  in  Lily’s  breast.  She  too  needed  friends — she  had 
tasted  the  pang  of  loneliness;  and  her  resentment  of 
Bertha  Dorset’s  cruelty  softened  her  heart  to  the  poor 
wretch  who  was  after  all  the  chief  of  Bertha’s  victims. 

“I  still  wish  to  be  kind;  I feel  no  ill-will  toward  you,” 
she  said.  “ But  you  must  understand  that  after  what  has 
happened  we  can’t  be  friends  again — we  can’t  see  each 
other.” 

“Ah,  you  are  kind  — you’re  merciful — you  always 
were!”  He  fixed  his  miserable  gaze  on  her.  “But  why 
can’t  we  be  friends — why  not,  when  I’ve  repented  in 
dust  and  ashes.?  Isn’t  it  hard  that  you  should  condemn 
me  to  suffer  for  the  falseness,  the  treachery  of  others?  1 
was  punished  enough  at  the  time — is  there  to  be  no 
respite  for  me?” 

“I  should  have  thought  you  had  found  complete  re- 
spite in  the  reconciliation  which  was  effected  at  my  ex- 
pense,” Lily  began,  with  renewed  impatience;  but  he 
broke  in  imploringly:  “Don’t  put  it  in  that  way — when 

[ 391  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


that’s  been  the  worst  of  my  punishment.  My  God!  what 
could  I do — wasn’t  I powerless.?  You  were  singled  out 
as  a sacrifice:  any  word  I might  have  said  would  have 
been  turned  against  you ” 

“I  have  told  you  I don’t  blame  you;  all  I eisk  you  to 
understand  is  that,  after  the  use  Bertha  chose  to  make 
of  me after  all  that  her  behaviour  has  since  implied — 
it ’s  impossible  that  you  and  I should  meet.” 

He  continued  to  stand  before  her,  in  his  dogged  weak- 
ness. “Is  it — need  it  be .?  Might  n’t  there  be  circumstances 

.?”  he  checked  himself,  slashing  at  the  wayside  weeds 

in  a wider  radius.  Then  he  began  again:  “Miss  Bart, 
listen — give  me  a minute.  If  we’re  not  to  meet  again, 
at  least  let  me  have  a hearing  now.  You  say  we  can’t  be 
friends  after — after  what  has  happened.  But  can’t  I 
at  least  appeal  to  your  pity.?  Can’t  I move  you  if  I ask 
you  to  think  of  me  as  a prisoner — a prisoner  you  edone 
can  set  free.?” 

Lily’s  inward  start  betrayed  itself  in  a quick  blush: 
was  it  possible  that  this  was  really  the  sense  of  CaiTy 
Fisher’s  adumbrations.? 

“I  can’t  see  how  I can  possibly  be  of  any  help  to  you,” 
she  murmured,  drawing  back  a little  from  the  mounting 
excitement  of  his  look. 

Her  tone  seemed  to  sober  him,  as  it  had  so  often  done 
in  his  stormiest  moments.  The  stubborn  lines  of  his  face 
relaxed,  and  he  said,  wdth  an  abrupt  drop  to  docility; 

[ 392  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“You  would  see,  if  you’d  be  as  merciful  as  you  used  to 
be:  and  heaven  knows  I’ve  never  needed  it  more!” 

She  paused  a moment,  moved  in  spite  of  herself  by 
this  reminder  of  her  influence  over  him.  Her  fibres  had 
been  softened  by  suffering,  and  the  sudden  glimpse  into 
his  mocked  and  broken  life  disarmed  her  contempt  for 
his  weakness. 

“I  am  very  sorry  for  you — I would  help  you  willingly; 
but  you  must  have  other  friends,  other  advisers.” 

“I  never  had  a friend  like  you,”  he  answered  simply. 
“And  besides — can’t  you  see.P — you’re  the  only  person” 
—his  voice  dropped  to  a whisper — “the  only  person  who 
knows.” 

Again  she  felt  her  colour  change ; again  her  heart  rose 
in  precipitate  throbs  to  meet  what  she  felt  was  coming. 

He  lifted  his  eyes  to  her  entreatingly.  “You  do  see, 
don’t  you.?  You  understand.?  I’m  desperate — I’m  at  the 
end  of  my  tether.  I want  to  be  free,  and  you  can  free  me. 
I know  you  can.  You  don’t  want  to  keep  me  bound  fast 
in  hell,  do  you.?  You  can’t  want  to  take  such  a vengeance 
as  that.  You  were  always  kind — your  eyes  are  kind  now. 
You  say  you’re  sorry  for  me.  Well,  it  rests  with  you  to 
show  it;  and  heaven  knows  there’s  nothing  to  keep  you 
back.  You  understand,  of  course — there  wouldn’t  be  a 
hint  of  publicity — not  a sound  or  a syllable  to  connect 
you  with  the  thing.  It  would  never  come  to  that,  you 
know:  all  I need  is  to  be  able  to  say  definitely:  ‘I  know 
[ 393  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


this — and  this — and  this’ — and  the  fight  would  drop, 
and  the  way  be  cleared,  and  the  whole  abominable  busi- 
ness swept  out  of  sight  in  a second.” 

He  spoke  pantingly,  like  a tired  runner,  with  breaks 
of  exhaustion  between  his  words  ; and  through  the  breaks 
she  caught,  as  through  the  shifting  rents  of  a fog,  great 
golden  vistas  of  peace  and  safety.  For  there  was  no  mis- 
taking the  definite  intention  behind  his  vague  appeal; 
she  could  have  filled  up  the  blanks  without  the  help  of 
Mrs.  Fisher’s  insinuations.  Here  was  a man  who  turned 
to  her  in  the  extremity  of  his  loneliness  and  his  humilia- 
tion : if  she  came  to  him  at  such  a moment  he  would  be 
hers  wdth  all  the  force  of  his  deluded  faith.  And  the 
power  to  make  him  so  lay  in  her  hand — lay  there  in  a 
completeness  he  could  not  even  remotely  conjecture.  Re- 
venge and  rehabilitation  might  be  hers  at  a stroke — 
there  was  something  dazzling  in  the  completeness  of  the 
opportunity. 

She  stood  silent,  gazing  away  from  him  down  the  au- 
tumnal stretch  of  the  deserted  lane.  And  suddenly  fear 
possessed  her — fear  of  herself,  and  of  the  terrible  force 
of  the  temptation.  All  her  past  weaknesses  were  like  so 
many  eager  accomplices  drawing  her  toward  the  path 
their  feet  had  already  smoothed.  She  turned  quickly,  and 
held  out  her  hand  to  Dorset. 

“Goodbye — I’m  sorry;  there’s  nothing  in  the  world 
that  I can  do.” 


r ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Nothing?  Ah,  don’t  say  that,”  he  cried;  “say  what’s 
true:  that  you  abandon  me  like  the  others.  You,  the  only 
creature  who  could  have  saved  me!” 

“Goodbye — goodbye,”  she  repeated  hurriedly;  and  as 
she  moved  away  she  heard  him  cry  out  on  a last  note  of 
entreaty:  “At  least  you’ll  let  me  see  you  once  more?” 

Lily,  on  regaining  the  Gormer  grounds,  struck  rapidly 
across  the  lawn  toward  the  unfinished  house,  where  she 
fancied  that  her  hostess  might  be  speculating,  not  too 
resignedly,  on  the  cause  of  her  delay;  for,  like  many 
unpunctual  persons,  Mrs.  Gormer  disliked  to  be  kept 
waiting. 

As  Miss  Bart  reached  the  avenue,  however,  she  saw  a 
smart  phaeton  with  a high-stepping  pair  disappear  be- 
hind the  shrubbery  in  the  direction  of  the  gate;  and  on 
the  doorstep  stood  Mrs.  Gormer,  with  a glow  of  retro- 
spective pleasure  on  her  open  countenance.  At  sight  of 
Lily  the  glow  deepened  to  an  embarrassed  red,  and  she 
said  with  a slight  laugh:  “Did  you  see  my  visitor?  Oh, 
I thought  you  came  back  by  the  avenue.  It  was  Mrs. 
George  Dorset — she  said  she’d  dropped  in  to  make  a 
neighbourly  call.” 

Lily  met  the  announcement  with  her  usual  composure, 
though  her  experience  of  Bertha’s  idiosyncrasies  would 
not  have  led  her  to  include  the  neighbourly  instinct 
among  them;  and  Mrs.  Gormer,  relieved  to  see  that  she 
[ 895  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


gave  no  sign  of  surprise,  went  on  with  a deprecating 
laugh;  “Of  course  what  really  brought  her  was  curiosity 
— she  made  me  take  her  all  over  the  house.  But  no  one 
could  have  been  nicer — no  airs,  you  know,  and  so  good- 
natured:  I can  quite  see  why  people  think  her  so  fasci- 
nating.” 

This  surprising  event,  coinciding  too  completely  with 
her  meeting  with  Dorset  to  be  regarded  as  contingent 
upon  it,  had  yet  immediately  struck  Lily  with  a vague 
sense  of  foreboding.  It  was  not  in  Bertha’s  habits  to  be 
neighbourly,  much  less  to  make  advances  to  any  one  out- 
side the  immediate  circle  of  her  affinities.  She  had  always 
consistently  ignored  the  world  of  outer  aspirants,  or  had 
recognized  its  individual  members  only  when  prompted 
by  motives  of  self-interest;  and  the  very  capriciousness 
of  her  condescensions  had,  as  Lily  was  aware,  given  them 
special  value  in  the  eyes  of  the  persons  she  distinguished. 
Lily  saw  this  now  in  Mrs.  Gormer’s  unconcealable  com- 
placency, and  in  the  happy  irrelevance  with  which,  for 
the  next  day  or  two.  she  quoted  Bertha’s  opinions  and 
speculated  on  the  origin  of  her  gowm.  All  the  secret  am- 
bitions which  Mrs.  Gormer’s  native  indolence,  and  the 
attitude  of  her  companions,  kept  in  habitual  abeyance, 
were  now  germinating  afi’esh  in  the  glow  of  Bertha’s  ad- 
vances; and  whatever  the  cause  of  the  latter,  Lily  saw 
that,  if  they  were  followed  up,  they  were  likely  to  have 
a disturbing  effect  upon  her  owm  future. 

r 396  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


She  had  arranged  to  break  the  length  of  her  stay  with 
her  new  friends  by  one  or  two  visits  to  other  acquain- 
tances as  recent;  and  on  her  return  from  this  somewhat 
depressing  excursion  she  was  immediately  conscious  that 
Mrs.  Dorset’s  influence  was  still  in  the  air.  There  had 
been  another  exchange  of  visits,  a tea  at  a country -club, 
an  encounter  at  a hunt  ball;  there  was  even  a rumour 
of  an  approaching  dinner,  which  Mattie  Gormer,  with 
an  unnatural  effort  at  discretion,  tried  to  smuggle  out 
of  the  conversation  whenever  Miss  Bart  took  part  in  it. 

The  latter  had  already  planned  to  return  to  town 
after  a farewell  Sunday  with  her  friends ; and,  with  Gerty 
Farish’s  aid,  had  discovered  a small  private  hotel  where 
she  might  establish  herself  for  the  winter.  The  hotel  be- 
ing on  the  edge  of  a fashionable  neighbourhood,  the 
price  of  the  few  square  feet  she  was  to  occupy  was  con- 
siderably in  excess  of  her  means;  but  she  found  a justi- 
fication for  her  dislike  of  poorer  quarters  in  the  argu- 
ment that,  at  this  particular  j uncture,  it  was  of  the  utmost 
importance  to  keep  up  a show  of  prosperity.  In  reality, 
it  was  impossible  for  her,  while  she  had  the  means  to 
pay  her  way  for  a week  ahead,  to  lapse  into  a form  of 
existence  like  Gerty  Farish’s.  She  had  never  been  so  near 
the  brink  of  insolvency;  but  she  could  at  least  manage 
to  meet  her  weekly  hotel  bill,  and  having  settled  the 
heaviest  of  her  previous  debts  out  of  the  money  she  had 
received  from  Trenor,  she  had  a still  fair  margin  of 

[ 397  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


credit  to  go  upon.  The  situation,  however,  was  not  agree- 
able enough  to  lull  her  to  complete  unconsciousness  of 
its  insecurity.  Her  rooms,  with  their  cramped  outlook 
down  a sallow  vista  of  brick  walls  and  fire-escapes,  her 
lonely  meals  in  the  dark  restaurant  with  its  surcharged 
ceiling  and  haunting  smell  of  coffee — all  these  material 
discomforts,  which  were  yet  to  be  accounted  as  so  many 
privileges  soon  to  be  withdra^vn,  kept  constantly  before 
her  the  disadvantages  of  her  state;  and  her  mind  re- 
verted the  more  insistently  to  Mrs.  Fisher’s  counsels. 
Beat  about  the  question  as  she  would,  she  knew  the  out- 
come of  it  was  that  she  must  try  to  marry  Rosedale; 
and  in  this  conviction  she  was  fortified  by  an  unex- 
pected visit  from  George  Dorset. 

She  found  him,  on  the  first  Sunday  after  her  return 
to  town,  pacing  her  narrow  sitting-room  to  the  immi- 
nent peril  of  the  few  knick-knacks  with  which  she  had 
tried  to  disguise  its  plush  exuberances  ; but  the  sight  of 
her  seemed  to  quiet  him,  and  he  said  meekly  that  he 
hadn’t  come  to  bother  her — that  he  asked  only  to  be 
allowed  to  sit  for  half  an  hour  and  talk  of  anything  she 
liked.  In  reality,  as  she  knew,  he  had  but  one  subject: 
himself  andhis  wretchedness;  and  it  was  the  need  of  her 
sympathy  that  had  drawn  him  back.  But  he  began  with 
a pretence  of  questioning  her  about  herself,  and  as  she 
replied,  she  saw  that,  for  the  first  time,  a faint  realiza- 
tion of  her  plight  penetrated  the  dense  surface  of  his 
[ 398  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


self-absorption.  Was  it  possible  that  her  old  beast  of  an 
aunt  had  actually  cut  her  oflP?  That  she  was  living  alone 
like  this  because  there  was  no  one  else  for  her  to  go  to, 
and  that  she  really  hadn’t  more  than  enough  to  keep 
alive  on  till  the  wretched  little  legacy  was  paid?  The 
fibres  of  sympathy  were  nearly  atrophied  in  him,  but  he 
was  suffering  so  intensely  that  he  had  a faint  glimpse  of 
what  other  sufferings  might  mean — and,  as  she  per- 
ceived, an  almost  simultaneous  perception  of  the  way  in 
which  her  particular  misfortunes  might  serve  him. 

When  at  length  she  dismissed  him,  on  the  pretext 
that  she  must  dress  for  dinner,  he  lingered  entreatingly 
on  the  threshold  to  blurt  out:  “It’s  been  such  a comfort 
— do  say  you’ll  let  me  see  you  again — ” But  to  this 
direct  appeal  it  was  impossible  to  give  an  assent;  and 
she  said  with  friendly  decisiveness:  “I’m  Sony — but 
you  know  why  I can’t.” 

He  coloured  to  the  eyes,  pushed  the  door  shut,  and 
stood  before  her  embarrassed  but  insistent.  “I  know  how 
you  might,  if  you  would — if  things  were  different — and 
it  lies  with  you  to  make  them  so.  It ’s  just  a word  to  say, 
and  you  put  me  out  of  my  misery!” 

Their  eyes  met,  and  for  a second  she  trembled  again 
with  the  nearness  of  the  temptation.  “You’re  mistaken; 
I know  nothing;  I saw  nothing,”  she  exclaimed,  striving, 
by  sheer  force  of  reiteration,  to  build  a barrier  between 
herself  and  her  peril;  and  as  he  turned  away,  groaning 

[ 399  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


out  “You  sacrifice  us  both,”  she  continued  to  repeat,  as  if 
it  were  a charm  :“I  know  nothing — absolutely  nothing.” 

Lily  had  seen  little  of  Rosedale  since  her  illuminating 
talk  with  Mrs.  Fisher,  but  on  the  two  or  three  occasions 
when  they  had  met  she  was  conscious  of  having  distinctly 
advanced  in  his  favour.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  he 
admired  her  as  much  as  ever,  and  she  believed  it  rested 
with  herself  to  raise  his  admiration  to  the  point  where  it 
should  bear  down  the  lingering  counsels  of  expediency. 
The  task  was  not  an  easy  one;  but  neither  was  it  easy, 
in  her  long  sleepless  nights,  to  face  the  thought  of  what 
George  Dorset  was  so  clearly  ready  to  offer.  Baseness  for 
baseness,  she  hated  the  other  least:  there  were  even  mo- 
ments when  a marriage  with  Rosedale  seemed  the  only 
honourable  solution  of  her  difficulties.  She  did  not  in- 
deed let  her  imagination  range  beyond  the  day  of  plight- 
ing: after  that  everything  faded  into  a haze  of  material 
well-being,  in  which  the  personality  of  her  benefactor  re- 
mained mercifully  vague.  She  had  learned,  in  her  long 
vigils,  that  there  were  certain  things  not  good  to  think 
of,  certain  midnight  images  that  must  at  any  cost  be  ex- 
orcised— and  one  of  these  was  the  image  of  herself  aa 
Rosedale’s  wife. 

Carry  Fisher,  on  the  strength,  as  she  frankly  owned, 
of  the  Brys’  Newport  success,  had  taken  for  the  autumn 
months  a small  house  at  Tuxedo;  and  thither  Lily  was 
[ 400  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


bound  on  the  Sunday  after  Dorset’s  visit.  Though  it  was 
nearly  dinner-time  when  she  arrived,  her  hostess  was  still 
out,  and  the  firelit  quiet  of  the  small  silent  house  de- 
scended on  her  spirit  with  a sense  of  peace  and  familiar- 
ity. It  may  be  doubted  if  such  an  emotion  had  ever  be- 
fore been  evoked  by  Carry  Fisher’s  surroundings;  but, 
contrasted  to  the  world  in  which  Lily  had  lately  lived, 
there  was  an  air  of  repose  and  stability  in  the  very  pla- 
cing of  the  furniture,  and  in  the  quiet  competence  of  the 
parlour-maid  who  led  her  up  to  her  room.  Mrs.  Fisher’s 
unconventionality  was,  after  all,  a merely  superficial  di- 
vergence from  an  inherited  social  creed,  while  the  man- 
ners of  the  Gormer  circle  represented  their  first  attempt 
to  formulate  such  a creed  for  themselves. 

It  was  the  first  time  since  her  return  from  Europe  that 
Lily  had  found  herself  in  a congenial  atmosphere,  and 
the  stirring  of  familiar  associations  had  almost  prepared 
her,  as  she  descended  the  stairs  before  dinner,  to  enter 
upon  a group  of  her  old  acquaintances.  But  this  expec- 
tation was  instantly  checked  by  the  reflection  that  the 
friends  who  remained  loyal  were  precisely  those  who 
would  be  least  willing  to  expose  her  to  such  encounters; 
and  it  was  hardly  with  surprise  that  she  found,  instead, 
Mr.  Rosedale  kneeling  domestically  on  the  drawing-room 
hearth  before  his  hostess’s  little  girl. 

Rosedale  in  the  paternal  role  was  hardly  a figure  to 
soften  Lily;  yet  she  could  not  but  notice  a quality  of 
[ 401  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


homely  goodness  in  his  advances  to  the  child.  They  were 
not,  at  any  rate,  the  premeditated  and  perfunctory  en- 
dearments of  the  guest  under  his  hostess’s  eye,  for  he  and 
the  little  girl  had  the  room  to  themselves ; and  something 
in  his  attitude  made  him  seem  a simple  and  kindly  being 
compared  to  the  small  critical  creature  who  endured  his 
homage.  Yes,  he  would  be  kind — Lily,  from  the  thresh- 
old, had  time  to  feel— kind  in  his  gross,  unscrupulous, 
rapacious  way,  the  way  of  the  predatory  creature  with 
his  mate.  She  had  but  a moment  in  which  to  consider 
whether  this  glimpse  of  the  fireside  man  mitigated  her 
repugnance,  or  gave  it,  rather,  a more  concrete  and  inti- 
mate form;  for  at  sight  of  her  he  was  immediately  on  his 
feet  again,  the  florid  and  dominant  Rosedale  of  Mattie 
Gormer’s  drawing-room. 

It  was  no  surprise  to  Lily  to  find  that  he  had  been 
selected  as  her  only  fellow-guest.  Though  she  and  her 
hostess  had  not  met  since  the  latter’s  tentative  discussion 
of  her  future,  Lily  knew  that  the  acuteness  which  en- 
abled Mrs.  Fisher  to  lay  a safe  and  pleasant  course 
through  a world  of  antagonistic  forces  was  not  infre- 
quently exercised  for  the  benefit  of  her  friends.  It  was, 
in  fact,  characteristic  of  Carry  that,  while  she  actively 
gleaned  her  own  stores  from  the  fields  of  affluence,  her 
real  sympathies  were  on  the  other  side — with  the  un- 
lucky, the  unpopular,  the  unsuccessful,  with  all  her  hun- 
gry fellow-toilers  in  the  shorn  stubble  of  success. 

[ 402  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Mrs.  Fisher’s  experience  guarded  her  against  the  niis< 
take  of  exposing  Lily,  for  the  first  evening,  to  the  un- 
mitigated impression  of  Rosedale’s  personality.  Kate 
Corby  and  two  or  three  men  dropped  in  to  dinner,  and 
Lily,  alive  to  every  detail  of  her  friend’s  method,  saw 
that  such  opportunities  as  had  been  contrived  for  her 
were  to  be  deferred  till  she  had,  as  it  were,  gained  cour- 
age to  make  effectual  use  of  them.  She  had  a sense  of 
acquiescing  in  this  plan  with  the  passiveness  of  a sufferer 
resigned  to  the  surgeon’s  touch;  and  this  feeling  of  al- 
most lethargic  helplessness  continued  when,  after  the  de- 
parture of  the  guests,  Mrs.  Fisher  followed  her  upstairs. 

“ May  I come  in  and  smoke  a cigarette  over  your  fire .? 
If  we  talk  in  my  room  we  shall  disturb  the  child.”  Mrs. 
Fisher  looked  about  her  with  the  eye  of  the  solicitous 
hostess.  “ I hope  you ’ve  managed  to  make  yourself  com- 
fortable, dear.?  Isn’t  it  a jolly  little  house.?  It’s  such  a 
blessing  to  have  a few  quiet  weeks  with  the  baby.” 

Carry,  in  her  rare  moments  of  prosperity,  became  so 
expansively  maternal  that  Miss  Bart  sometimes  wondered 
whether,  if  she  could  ever  get  time  and  money  enough,  she 
would  not  end  by  devoting  them  both  to  her  daughter. 

“It’s  a well-earned  rest:  I’ll  say  that  for  myself,”  she 
continued,  sinking  down  with  a sigh  of  content  on  the 
pillowed  lounge  near  the  fire.  “Louisa  Bry  is  a stern 
task-master:  I often  used  to  wish  myself  back  with  the 
Gormers.  Talk  of  love  making  people  jealous  and  sus- 
[ 403  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


picious — it’s  nothing  to  social  ambition!  Louisa  used  to 
lie  awake  at  night  wondering  whether  the  women  who 
called  on  us  called  on  me  because  I was  with  her,  or  on 
her  because  she  was  with  me;  and  she  was  always  laying 
traps  to  find  out  what  I thought.  Of  coui-se  I had  to  dis- 
own my  oldest  friends,  rather  than  let  her  suspect  she 
owed  me  the  chance  of  making  a single  acquaintance — 
when,  all  the  while,  that  was  what  she  had  me  there  for, 
and  what  she  wrote  me  a handsome  cheque  for  when  the 
season  was  over!” 

Mrs.  Fisher  was  not  a woman  who  talked  of  herself 
without  cause,  and  the  practice  of  direct  speech,  far  from 
precluding  in  her  an  occasional  resort  to  circuitous  meth- 
ods, served  rather,  at  crucial  moments,  the  purpose  of 
the  juggler’s  chatter  while  he  shifts  the  contents  of  his 
sleeves.  Through  the  haze  of  her  cigarette  smoke  she  con- 
tinued to  gaze  meditatively  at  i\Iiss  Bart,  who,  having 
dismissed  her  maid,  sat  before  the  toilet-table  shaking 
out  over  her  shoulders  the  loosened  undulations  of  her 
hair, 

“Your  hair’s  wonderful,  Lily.  Thinner — ? MTiat  does 
that  matter,  when  it’s  so  light  and  alive.^  So  many  wo- 
men’s worries  seem  to  go  straight  to  their  hair  — but 
yours  looks  as  if  there  had  never  been  an  anxious  thought 
under  it.  I never  saw  you  look  better  than  you  did  this 
evening.  Mattie  Gormer  told  me  that  iMorpeth  wanted 
to  paint  you — why  don’t  you  let  him.?” 

[ 404  ; 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

Miss  Bart’s  immediate  answer  was  to  address  a 
cal  glance  to  the  reflection  of  the  countenance  under 
cussion.  Then  she  said,  with  a slight  touch  of  irritation : 
“I  don’t  care  to  accept  a portrait  from  Paul  Morpeth.” 

Mrs.  Fisher  mused.  “N — no.  And  just  now,  especially 
“ — well,  he  can  do  you  after  you’re  married.”  She  waited 
a moment,  and  then  went  on : “ By  the  way,  I had  a visit 
from  Mattie  the  other  day.  She  turned  up  here  last  Sun- 
day— and  with  Bertha  Dorset,  of  all  people  in  the  world ! ” 

She  paused  again  to  measure  the  effect  of  this  an- 
nouncement on  her  hearer,  but  the  brush  in  Miss  Bart’s 
lifted  hand  maintained  its  unwavering  stroke  from  brow 
to  nape. 

“I  never  was  more  astonished,”  Mrs.  Fisher  pursued. 

don’t  know  two  women  less  predestined  to  intimacy — 
from  Bertha’s  standpoint,  that  is ; for  of  course  poor  Mat- 
tie  thinks  it  natural  enough  that  she  should  be  singled 
out — I’ve  no  doubt  the  rabbit  always  thinks  it  is  fasci- 
nating the  anaconda.  Well,  you  know  I’ve  always  told  you 
that  Mattie  secretly  longed  to  bore  herself  with  the  really 
fashionable ; and  now  that  the  chance  has  come,  I see  that 
she’s  capable  of  sacrificing  all  her  old  friends  to  it.” 

Lily  laid  aside  her  brush  and  turned  a penetrating 
glance  upon  her  friend.  “Including  me?'"  she  suggested. 

“Ah,  my  dear,”  murmured  Mrs.  Fisher,  rising  to  push 
back  a log  from  the  hearth. 

“That ’s  what  Bertha  means,  is  n’t  it.f^”  Miss  Bart  went 

[ 405  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


steadily.  “For  of  course  she  always  means  something; 

.d  before  I left  Long  Island  I saw  that  she  was  begin- 
ning to  lay  her  toils  for  Mattie.” 

Mrs.  Fisher  sighed  evasively.  “She  has  her  fast  now, 
at  any  rate.  To  think  of  that  loud  independence  of 
Mattie’s  being  only  a subtler  form  of  snobbishness ! Bertha 
can  already  make  her  believe  anything  she  pleases — and 
I’m  afraid  she’s  begun,  my  poor  child,  by  insinuating 
horrors  about  you.” 

Lily  flushed  under  the  shadow  of  her  drooping  hair. 
“The  world  is  too  vile,”  she  mm’mured,  averting  herself 
from  Mrs.  Fisher’s  anxious  scrutiny. 

“It’s  not  a pretty  place;  and  the  only  way  to  keep  a 
footing  in  it  is  to  fight  it  on  its  own  tenns — and  above 
all,  my  dear,  not  alone!”  Mrs.  Fisher  gathered  up  her 
floating  implications  in  a resolute  grasp.  “You’ve  told 
me  so  little  that  I can  only  guess  what  has  been  happen- 
ing; but  in  the  rush  we  all  live  in  there’s  no  time  to  keep 
on  hating  any  one  without  a cause,  and  if  Bertha  is  still 
nasty  enough  to  want  to  injure  you  with  other  people  it 
must  be  because  she ’s  still  afraid  of  you.  From  her  stand- 
point there’s  only  one  reason  for  being  afraid  of  you; 
and  my  own  idea  is  that,  if  you  want  to  punish  her,  you 
hold  the  means  in  your  hand.  I believe  you  can  marry 
George  Dorset  tomorrow;  but  if  you  don’t  care  for  that 
particular  form  of  retaliation,  the  only  thing  to  save  you 
from  Bertha  is  to  marry  somebody  else.” 

L 406  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


VII 


HE  light  projected  on  the  situation  by  Mrs.  Fisher 


had  the  cheerless  distinctness  of  a winter  dawn.  It 


outlined  the  facts  with  a cold  precision  unmodified  by 
shade  or  colour,  and  refracted,  as  it  were,  from  the  blank 
walls  of  the  surrounding  limitations;  she  had  opened  win- 
dows from  which  no  sky  was  ever  visible.  But  the  idealist 
subdued  to  vulgar  necessities  must  employ  vulgar  minds  to 
draw  the  inferences  to  which  he  cannot  stoop ; and  it  was 
easier  for  Lily  to  let  Mrs.  Fisher  formulate  her  case  than 
to  put  it  plainly  to  herself.  Once  confronted  with  it,  how- 
ever, she  went  the  full  length  of  its  consequences ; and  these 
had  never  been  more  clearly  present  to  her  than  when,  the 
next  afternoon,  she  set  out  for  a walk  with  Rosedale. 

It  was  one  of  those  still  November  days  when  the  air 
is  haunted  with  the  light  of  summer,  and  something  in 
the  lines  of  the  landscape,  and  in  the  golden  haze  which 
bathed  them,  recalled  to  Miss  Bart  the  September  after- 
noon when  she  had  climbed  the  slopes  of  Bellomont  with 
Selden.  The  importunate  memory  was  kept  before  her 
by  its  ironic  contrast  to  her  present  situation,  since  her 
walk  with  Selden  had  represented  an  irresistible  flight 
from  just  such  a climax  as  the  present  excursion  was  de- 
signed to  bring  about.  But  other  memories  importuned 
her  also;  the  recollection  of  similar  situations,  as  skil- 
fully led  up  to,  but  through  some  malice  of  fortune,  or 


[ 407  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


her  own  unsteadiness  of  purpose,  always  failing  of  the 
intended  result.  Well,  her  purpose  was  steady  enough 
now.  She  saw  that  the  whole  weary  work  of  rehabilita- 
tion must  begin  again,  and  against  far  greater  odds,  if 
Bertha  Dorset  should  succeed  in  breaking  up  her  friend- 
ship with  the  Gormers;  and  her  longing  for  shelter  and 
security  was  intensified  by  the  passionate  desire  to  tri- 
umph over  Bertha,  as  only  wealth  and  predominance 
could  triumph  over  her.  As  the  wife  of  Rosedale — the 
Rosedale  she  felt  it  in  her  power  to  create — she  would 
at  least  present  an  invulnerable  front  to  her  enemy. 

She  had  to  draw  upon  this  thought,  as  upon  some 
fiery  stimulant,  to  keep  up  her  part  in  the  scene  toward 
which  Rosedale  was  too  frankly  tending.  As  she  walked 
beside  him,  shrinking  in  every  nerve  from  the  way  in 
which  his  look  and  tone  made  free  of  her,  yet  telling 
herself  that  this  momentary  endurance  of  his  mood  was 
the  price  she  must  pay  for  her  ultimate  power  over  him, 
she  tried  to  calculate  the  exact  point  at  which  conces- 
sion must  turn  to  resistance,  and  the  price  he  would  have 
to  pay  be  made  equally  clear  to  him.  But  his  dapper 
self-confidence  seemed  impenetrable  to  such  hints,  and 
she  had  a sense  of  something  hard  and  self-contained 
behind  the  superficial  warmth  of  his  manner. 

They  had  been  seated  for  some  time  in  the  seclusion 
of  a I’ocky  glen  above  the  lake,  when  she  suddenly  cut 
short  the  culmination  of  an  impassioned  period  by  turn- 
[ 408  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ing  upon  him  the  grave  loveliness  of  her  gaze. 

“I  do  believe  what  you  say,  Mr.  Rosedale,”  she  said 
quietly;  “and  I am  ready  to  marry  you  whenever  you 
wish.” 

Rosedale,  reddening  to  the  roots  of  his  glossy  hair, 
received  this  announcement  with  a recoil  which  carried 
him  to  his  feet,  where  he  halted  before  her  in  an  atti- 
tude of  almost  comic  discomfiture. 

“For  I suppose  that  is  what  you  do  wish,”  she  con- 
tinued, in  the  same  quiet  tone.  “And,  though  I was  un- 
able to  consent  when  you  spoke  to  me  in  this  way  before, 
I am  ready,  now  that  I know  you  so  much  better,  to 
trust  my  happiness  to  your  hands.” 

She  spoke  with  the  noble  directness  which  she  could 
command  on  such  occasions,  and  which  was  like  a large 
steady  light  thrown  across  the  tortuous  darkness  of  the 
situation.  In  its  inconvenient  brightness  Rosedale  seemed 
to  waver  a moment,  as  though  conscious  that  every  ave- 
nue of  escape  was  unpleasantly  illuminated. 

Then  he  gave  a short  laugh,  and  drew  out  a gold 
cigarette-case,  in  which,  with  plump  jewelled  fingers,  he 
groped  for  a gold-tipped  cigarette.  Selecting  one,  he 
paused  to  contemplate  it  a moment  before  saying:  “My 
dear  Miss  Lily,  I ’m  sorry  if  there ’s  been  any  little  mis- 
apprehension between  us — but  you  made  me  feel  my 
suit  was  so  hopeless  that  I had  really  no  intention  of 
renewing  it.” 


[ 409  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lily’s  blood  tingled  with  the  grossness  of  the  rebuff; 
but  she  checked  the  first  leap  of  her  anger,  and  said  in 
a tone  of  gentle  dignity:  “I  have  no  one  but  myself  to 
blame  if  I gave  you  the  impression  that  my  decision  was 
final.” 

Her  word-play  was  always  too  quick  for  liim,  and  this 
r eply  held  him  in  puzzled  silence  while  she  extended  her 
hand  and  added,  with  the  faintest  inflection  of  sadness 
in  her  voice:  “Before  we  bid  each  other  goodbye,  I want 
at  least  to  thank  you  for  having  once  thought  of  me  as 
you  did.” 

The  touch  of  her  hand,  the  moving  softness  of  her 
look,  thrilled  a vulnerable  fibre  in  Rosedale.  It  was  her 
exquisite  inaccessibleness,  the  sense  of  distance  she  could 
convey  without  a hint  of  disdain,  that  made  it  most 
difficult  for  him  to  give  her  up. 

“Why  do  you  talk  of  saying  goodbye.?  Ain’t  we  go- 
ing to  be  good  friends  all  the  same.?”  he  urged,  without 
releasing  her  hand. 

She  drew  it  away  quietly.  “MTiat  is  your  idea  of  be- 
ing good  friends?”  she  returned  with  a slight  smile. 
“Making  love  to  me  without  asking  me  to  marry  you.?” 

Rosedale  laughed  with  a recovered  sense  of  ease. 
“AVell,  that ’s  about  the  size  of  it,  I suppose.  I can’t  help 
making  love  to  you — I don’t  see  how  any  man  could; 
but  I don’t  mean  to  ask  you  to  marry  me  as  long  as  I can 
keep  out  of  it.” 


k 410  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


She  continued  to  smile.  “ I like  your  frankness ; but  I am 
afraid  our  friendship  can  hardly  continue  on  those  terms,* 

She  turned  away,  as  though  to  mark  that  its  final  term 
had  in  fact  been  reached,  and  he  followed  her  for  a few 
steps  with  a baffled  sense  of  her  having  after  all  kept  the: 
game  in  her  own  hands. 

“Miss Lily ”he  began  impulsively;  but  she  waited 

on  without  seeming  to  hear  him. 

He  overtook  her  in  a few  quick  strides,  and  laid  an 
entreating  hand  on  her  arm.  “Miss  Lily — don’t  huny 
away  like  that.  You’re  beastly  hard  on  a fellow;  but  if 
you  don’t  mind  speaking  the  truth  I don’t  see  why  you 
should  n’t  allow  me  to  do  the  same.” 

She  had  paused  a moment  with  raised  brows,  drawing 
away  instinctively  from  his  touch,  though  she  made  no 
effort  to  evade  his  words. 

“I  was  under  the  impression,”  she  rejoined,  “that  you 
had  done  so  without  waiting  for  my  permission.” 

“Well — why  shouldn’t  you  hear  my  reasons  for  do- 
ing it,  then?  We’re  neither  of  us  such  new  hands  that  a 
little  plain  speaking  is  going  to  hurt  us,  I ’m  all  broken 
up  on  you : there ’s  nothing  new  in  that.  I ’m  more  in  love 
with  you  than  I was  this  time  last  year;  but  I’ve  got  to 
face  the  fact  that  the  situation  is  changed.” 

She  continued  to  confront  him  with  the  same  air  of 
ironic  composure.  “You  mean  to  say  that  I’m  not  as  de- 
sirable a match  as  you  thought  me?” 

[ 411  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Yes;  that’s  what  I do  mean,”  he  answered  resolutely. 
“I  won’t  go  into  what’s  happened.  I don’t  believe  the 
stories  about  you — I don’t  loant  to  believe  them.  But 
they’re  there,  and  my  not  believing  them  ain’t  going  to 
alter  the  situation.” 

She  flushed  to  her  temples,  but  the  extremity  of  her 
need  checked  the  retort  on  her  lip  and  she  continued  to 
face  him  composedly.  “If  they  are  not  true,”  she  said, 
“doesn’t  that  alter  the  situation.^” 

He  met  this  with  a steady  gaze  of  his  small  stock- 
taking eyes,  which  made  her  feel  herself  no  more  than 
some  superfine  human  merchandise.  “I  believe  it  does  in 
novels;  but  I’m  certain  it  don’t  in  real  life.  You  know 
that  as  well  as  I do:  if  we’re  speaking  the  truth,  let’s 
speak  the  whole  truth.  Last  year  I was  wild  to  marry  you, 
and  you  would  n’t  look  at  me:  this  year — well,  you  ap- 
pear to  be  willing.  Now,  what  has  changed  in  the  inter- 
val.'^ Your  situation,  that’s  all.  Then  you  thought  you 

could  do  better;  now ” 

“You  think  you  can.?”  broke  from  her  ironically. 

“ MTiy,  yes,  I do : in  one  way,  that  is.”  He  stood  before 
her,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his  chest  sturdily  expanded 
under  its  vivid  waistcoat.  “It’s  this  way,  you  see:  I’ve  had 
a pretty  steady  grind  of  it  these  last  years,  working  up 
my  social  position.  Think  it’s  funny  I should  say  that? 
^^^^y  should  I mind  saying  I want  to  get  into  society?  A 
man  ain’t  ashamed  to  say  he  wants  to  own  a racing  stable 
[ 412  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


or  a picture  gallery.  Well,  a taste  for  society ’s  just  an« 
other  kind  of  hobby.  Perhaps  I want  to  get  even  with 
some  of  the  people  who  cold-shouldered  me  last  year — ■ 
put  it  that  way  if  it  sounds  better.  Anyhow,  I want  to 
have  the  run  of  the  best  houses;  and  I’m  getting  it  too, 
little  by  little.  But  I know  the  quickest  way  to  queer  your- 
self with  the  right  people  is  to  be  seen  with  the  wrong 
ones;  and  that’s  the  reason  I want  to  avoid  mistakes.” 

Miss  Bart  continued  to  stand  before  him  in  a silence 
that  might  have  expressed  either  mockery  or  a half- 
reluctant  respect  for  his  candour,  and  after  a moment’s 
pause  he  went  on:  “There  it  is,  you  see.  I’m  more  in 
love  with  you  than  ever,  but  if  I married  you  now  I ’d 
queer  myself  for  good  and  all,  and  everything  I ’ve  worked 
for  all  these  years  would  be  wasted.” 

She  received  this  with  a look  from  which  all  tinge  of 
resentment  had  faded.  After  the  tissue  of  social  false- 
hoods in  which  she  had  so  long  moved  it  was  refreshing 
to  step  into  the  open  daylight  of  an  avowed  expediency. 

“I  understand  you,”  she  said.  “A  year  ago  I should 
have  been  of  use  to  you,  and  now  I should  be  an  encum- 
brance; and  I like  you  for  telling  me  so  quite  honestly.” 
She  extended  her  hand  with  a smile. 

Again  the  gesture  had  a disturbing  effect  upon  Mr. 
Rosedale’s  self-command.  “ By  George,  you  ’re  a dead  game 
sport,  you  are ! ” he  exclaimed ; and  as  she  began  once  more 
to  move  away,  he  broke  out  suddenly — “Miss  Lily — 
[ 413  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


stop.  You  know  I don’t  believe  those  stories — I believe 
they  were  all  got  up  by  a woman  who  did  n’t  hesitate  to 
sacrifice  you  to  her  own  convenience ^ 

Lily  drew  away  with  a movement  of  quick  disdain:  it 
was  easier  to  endure  his  insolence  than  his  commisera- 
tion. 

“You  are  very  kind;  but  I don’t  think  we  need  discuss 
the  matter  farther.” 

But  Rosedale’s  natural  imperviousness  to  hints  made 
it  easy  for  him  to  brush  such  resistance  aside.  “I  don’t 
want  to  discuss  anything;  I just  want  to  put  a plain 
case  before  you,”  he  persisted. 

She  paused  in  spite  of  herself,  held  by  the  note  of  a 
new  purpose  in  his  look  and  tone;  and  he  went  on,  keep- 
ing his  eyes  firmly  upon  her:  “The  wonder  to  me  is 
that  you ’ve  waited  so  long  to  get  square  with  that  wo- 
man, when  you ’ve  had  the  power  in  your  hands.”  She 
continued  silent  under  the  rush  of  astonishment  that  his 
words  produced,  and  he  moved  a step  closer  to  ask  with 
low-toned  directness*  “^Vhy  don’t  you  use  those  letters 
of  hers  you  bought  last  year.^” 

Lily  stood  speechless  under  the  shock  of  the  interro- 
gation. In  the  words  preceding  it  she  had  conjectured, 
at  most,  an  allusion  to  her  supposed  influence  over 
George  Dorset;  nor  did  the  astonisliing  indelicacy  of  the 
reference  diminish  the  likelihood  of  Rosedale’s  resorting 
to  it.  But  now  she  saw  how  far  short  of  the  mark  she 
[ 414  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


had  fallen ; and  the  surprise  of  learning  that  he  had  dis* 
covered  the  secret  of  the  letters  left  her,  for  the  moment, 
unconscious  of  the  special  use  to  which  he  was  in  the  act 
of  putting  his  knowledge. 

Her  temporary  loss  of  self-possession  gave  him  time 
to  press  his  point ; and  he  went  on  quickly,  as  though  to 
secure  completer  control  of  the  situation:  “You  see  I 
know  where  you  stand — I know  how  completely  she’s 
in  your  power.  That  sounds  like  stage-talk,  don’t  it.? — • 
but  there ’s  a lot  of  truth  in  some  of  those  old  gags ; and 
I don’t  suppose  you  bought  those  letters  simply  because 
you’re  collecting  autographs.” 

She  continued  to  look  at  him  with  a deepening  be- 
wilderment: her  only  clear  impression  resolved  itself  into 
a scared  sense  of  his  power. 

“You’re  wondering  how  I found  out  about  ’em.?”  he 
went  on,  answering  her  look  with  a note  of  conscious 
pride.  “Perhaps  you ’ve  forgotten  that  I’m  the  owner 
of  the  Benedick — but  never  mind  about  that  now.  Get- 
ting on  to  things  is  a mighty  useful  accomplishment  in 
business,  and  I ’ve  simply  extended  it  to  my  private  af- 
fairs. For  this  is  partly  my  affair,  you  see — at  least,  it 
depends  on  you  to  make  it  so.  Let ’s  look  the  situation 
straight  in  the  eye.  Mrs.  Dorset,  for  reasons  we  need  n’t 
go  into,  did  you  a beastly  bad  turn  last  spring.  Every- 
body knows  what  Mrs.  Dorset  is,  and  her  best  friends 
would  n’t  believe  her  on  oath  where  their  own  interests 
[ 415  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


were  concerned ; but  as  long  as  they  ’re  out  of  the  row 
it ’s  much  easier  to  follow  her  lead  than  to  set  them- 
selves against  it,  and  you’ve  simply  been  sacrificed  to 
their  laziness  and  selfishness.  Isn’t  that  a pretty  fair 
statement  of  the  case.? — Well,  some  people  say  you’ve 
got  the  neatest  kind  of  an  answer  in  your  hands:  that 
George  Dorset  would  marry  you  tomorrow,  if  you ’d  tell 
him  all  you  know,  and  give  him  the  chance  to  show  the 
lady  the  door.  I daresay  he  would;  but  you  don’t  seem 
to  care  for  that  particular  form  of  getting  even,  and, 
taking  a purely  business  view  of  the  question,  I think 
you  ’re  right.  In  a deal  like  that,  nobody  comes  out  with 
perfectly  clean  hands,  and  the  only  way  for  you  to  start 
fresh  is  to  get  Beidha  Dorset  to  back  you  up,  instead 
of  trying  to  fight  her.” 

He  paused  long  enough  to  draw  breath,  but  not  to 
give  her  time  for  the  expression  of  her  gathering  resist- 
ance; and  as  he  pressed  on,  expounding  and  elucidating 
his  idea  with  the  directness  of  the  man  who  has  no 
doubts  of  his  cause,  she  found  the  indignation  gradually 
freezing  on  her  lip,  found  hei-self  held  fast  in  the  grasp 
of  his  argument  by  the  mere  cold  strength  of  its  presen- 
tation. There  was  no  time  no\v  to  wonder  how  he  had 
heard  of  her  obtaining  the  letters:  all  her  world  was 
dark  outside  the  monstrous  glare  of  his  scheme  for  using 
them.  And  it  was  not,  after  the  first  moment,  the  horror 
of  the  idea  that  held  her  speU-bound,  subdued  to  his 
[ 416  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


will ; it  was  rather  its  subtle  affinity  to  her  own  inmost 
cravings.  He  would  marry  her  tomorrow  if  she  could 
regain  Bertha  Dorset’s  friendship;  and  to  induce  the 
open  resumption  of  that  friendship,  and  the  tacit  retrac- 
tation of  all  that  had  caused  its  withdrawal,  she  had 
only  to  put  to  the  lady  the  latent  menace  contained  in 
the  packet  so  miraculously  delivered  into  her  hands. 
Lily  saw  in  a flash  the  advantage  of  this  course  over 
that  which  poor  Dorset  had  pressed  upon  her.  The  other 
plan  depended  for  its  success  on  the  infliction  of  an  open 
injury,  while  this  reduced  the  transaction  to  a private 
understanding,  of  which  no  third  person  need  have  the 
remotest  hint.  Put  by  Rosedale  in  terms  of  business-like 
give-and-take,  this  understanding  took  on  the  harmless 
air  of  a mutual  accommodation,  like  a transfer  of  pro- 
perty or  a revision  of  boundary  lines.  It  certainly  simpli- 
fied life  to  view  it  as  a perpetual  adjustment,  a play  of 
party  politics,  in  which  every  concession  had  its  recog- 
nized equivalent:  Lily’s  tired  mind  was  fascinated  by 
this  escape  from  fluctuating  ethical  estimates  into  a re- 
gion of  concrete  weights  and  measures. 

Rosedale,  as  she  listened,  seemed  to  read  in  her  silence 
not  only  a gradual  acquiescence  in  his  plan,  but  a danger- 
ously far-reaching  perception  of  the  chances  it  offered; 
for  as  she  continued  to  stand  before  him  without  speak- 
ing, he  broke  out,  with  a quick  return  upon  himself: 
“You  see  how  simple  it  is,  don’t  you  ? Well,  don’t  be  car- 
[ «7  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


tied  away  by  the  idea  that  it ’s  too  simple.  It  is  n’t  exactly 
as  if  you ’d  started  in  with  a clean  bill  of  health.  Now 
we  ’re  talking  let ’s  call  things  by  their  right  names,  and 
clear  the  whole  business  up.  You  know  well  enough  that 
Bertha  Dorset  could  n’t  have  touched  you  if  there  had  n’t 
been — well — questions  asked  before — little  points  of  in- 
terrogation, eh?  Bound  to  happen  to  a good-looking  girl 
xvith  stingy  relatives,  I suppose;  anyhow,  they  did  hap- 
pen, and  she  found  the  ground  prepared  for  her.  Do  you 
see  where  I’m  coming  out?  You  don’t  want  these  little 
questions  cropping  up  again.  It ’s  one  thing  to  get  Bertha 
Dorset  into  line — but  what  you  want  is  to  keep  her  there. 
You  can  frighten  her  fast  enough — but  how  are  you  go- 
ing to  keep  her  frightened?  By  showing  her  that  you’re 
as  powerful  as  she  is.  All  the  letters  in  the  world  won't 
do  that  for  you  as  you  are  now ; but  with  a big  backing 
behind  you,  you  ’ll  keep  her  just  where  you  want  her  to  be. 
That’s  my  share  in  the  business — that’s  what  I’m  offer- 
ing you.  You  can’t  put  the  thing  through  without  me — 
don’t  run  away  with  any  idea  that  you  can.  In  six  months 
you’d  be  back  again  among  your  old  wonies,  or  worse 
ones;  and  here  I am,  ready  to  lift  you  out  of  ’em  to- 
morrow if  you  say  so.  Do  you  say  so,  Miss  Lily  ?”  he 
added,  moving  suddenly  nearer. 

The  words,  and  the  movement  which  accompanied 
them,  combined  to  startle  Lily  out  of  the  state  of  tranced 
subservience  into  which  she  had  insensibly  slipped.  Light 

r «8  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


comes  in  devious  ways  to  the  groping  consciousness,  and 
it  came  to  her  now  through  the  disgusted  perception  that 
her  would-be  accomplice  assumed,  as  a matter  of  course, 
the  likelihood  of  her  distrusting  him  and  perhaps  trying 
to  cheat  him  of  his  share  of  the  spoils.  This  glimpse  of 
his  inner  mind  seemed  to  present  the  whole  transaction 
in  a new  aspect,  and  she  saw  that  the  essential  baseness 
of  the  act  lay  in  its  freedom  from  risk. 

She  drew  back  with  a quick  gesture  of  rejection,  say- 
ing, in  a voice  that  was  a surprise  to  her  own  ears:  “You 
are  mistaken — quite  mistaken-— -both  in  the  facts  and  in 
what  you  infer  from  them,” 

Rosedale  stared  a moment,  puzzled  by  her  sudden  dash 
in  a direction  so  different  from  that  toward  which  she 
had  appeared  to  be  letting  him  guide  her. 

“Now  what  on  earth  does  that  mean  ? I thought  we 
understood  each  other!”  he  exclaimed;  and  to  her  mur- 
mur of  “Ah,  we  do  now”  he  retorted  with  a sudden 
burst  of  violence:  “I  suppose  it’s  because  the  letters  are 
to  Mm,  then?  Well,  I’ll  be  damned  if  I see  what  thanks 
you’ve  got  from  him!” 


VIII 

The  autumn  days  declined  to  winter.  Once  more 
the  leisure  world  was  in  transition  between  coun- 
try and  town,  and  Fifth  Avenue,  stiU  deserted  at  the 
[ 419  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


week  -end,  showed  from  Monday  to  Friday  a broadening 
stream  of  carriages  between  house-fronts  gradually  re- 
stored to  consciousness. 

The  Horse  Show,  some  two  weeks  earlier,  had  pro- 
duced a passing  semblance  of  reanimation,  filling  the 
theatres  and  restaurants  with  a human  display  of  the 
same  costly  and  high-stepping  kind  as  circled  daily  about 
its  ring.  In  Miss  Bai-t’s  world  the  Horse  Show,  and  the 
public  it  attracted,  had  ostensibly  come  to  be  classed 
among  the  spectacles  disdained  of  the  elect;  but,  as  the 
feudal  lord  might  sally  forth  to  join  in  the  dance  on  his 
village  green,  so  society,  unofficially  and  incidentally,  still 
condescended  to  look  in  upon  the  scene.  Mrs.  Gormer, 
among  the  rest,  was  not  above  seizing  such  an  occasion 
for  the  display  of  herself  and  her  horses;  and  Lily  was 
given  one  or  two  opportunities  of  appearing  at  her 
friend’s  side  in  the  most  conspicuous  box  the  house  af- 
forded. But  this  lingering  semblance  of  intimacy  made 
her  only  the  more  conscious  of  a change  in  the  relation 
between  Mattie  and  herself,  of  a da^vning  discrimination, 
a gradually  formed  social  standard,  emerging  from  IVIrs. 
Gormer’s  chaotic  riew  of  life.  It  was  inevitable  that  Lily 
herself  should  constitute  the  first  sacrifice  to  this  new 
ideal,  and  she  knew  that,  once  the  Gormers  were  estab- 
lished in  town,  the  whole  drift  of  fashionable  life  would 
facilitate  Mattie’s  detachment  from  her.  She  had,  in 
short,  failed  to  make  herself  indispensable;  or  rather,  her 
[ 420  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


attempt  to  do  so  had  been  thwarted  by  an  influence 
stronger  than  any  she  could  exert.  That  influence,  in  its 
last  analysis,  was  simply  the  power  of  money;  Bertha 
Dorset’s  social  credit  was  based  on  an  impi’egnable  bank- 
account. 

Lily  knew  that  Rosedale  had  overstated  neither  the 
difficulty  of  her  own  position  nor  the  completeness  of 
the  vindication  he  offered:  once  Bertha’s  match  in  ma- 
terial resources,  her  superior  gifts  would  make  it  easy 
for  her  to  dominate  her  adversary.  An  understanding  of 
what  such  domination  would  mean,  and  of  the  disadvan- 
tages accruing  from  her  rejection  of  it,  was  brought  home 
to  Lily  with  increasing  clearness  during  the  early  weeks 
of  the  winter.  Hitherto,  she  had  kept  up  a semblance  of 
movement  outside  the  main  flow  of  the  social  current; 
but  with  the  return  to  town,  and  the  concentrating  of 
scattered  activities,  the  mere  fact  of  not  slipping  back 
naturally  into  her  old  habits  of  life  marked  her  as  being 
unmistakably  excluded  from  them.  If  one  were  not  a part 
of  the  season’s  fixed  routine,  one  swung  unsphered  in  a 
void  of  social  non-existence.  Lily,  for  all  her  dissatisfied 
dreaming,  had  never  really  conceived  the  possibility  of 
revolving  about  a different  centre:  it  was  easy  enough  to 
despise  the  world,  but  decidedly  difficult  to  find  any 
other  habitable  region.  Her  sense  of  irony  never  quite 
deserted  her,  and  she  could  still  note,  with  self-directed 
derision,  the  abnormal  value  suddenly  acquired  by  the 
[ 421  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


most  tiresome  and  insignificant  details  of  her  former  life. 
Its  very  drudgeries  had  a charm  now  that  she  was  in- 
voluntarily released  from  them : card-leaving,  note-writ- 
ing, enforced  civilities  to  the  dull  and  elderly,  and  the 
smiling  endurance  of  tedious  dinners — how  pleasantly 
such  obligations  would  have  filled  the  emptiness  of  her 
days!  She  did  indeed  leave  cards  in  plenty;  she  kept  her- 
self, with  a smiling  and  valiant  persistence,  well  in  the 
eye  of  her  world;  nor  did  she  suffer  any  of  those  gross 
rebuffs  which  sometimes  produce  a wholesome  reaction 
of  contempt  in  their  victim.  Society  did  not  turn  away 
from  her,  it  simply  drifted  by,  preoccupied  and  inatten- 
tive, letting  her  feel,  to  the  fuU  measure  of  her  humbled 
pride,  how  completely  she  had  been  the  creature  of  its 
favour. 

She  had  rejected  Rosedale’s  suggestion  w ith  a prompt- 
ness of  scorn  almost  surprising  to  herself:  she  had  not 
lost  her  capacity  for  high  flashes  of  indignation.  But  she 
could  not  breathe  long  on  the  heights;  there  had  been 
nothing  in  her  training  to  develop  any  continuity  of 
moral  strength:  what  she  craved,  and  really  felt  herself 
entitled  to,  was  a situation  in  wdiich  the  noblest  attitude 
should  also  be  the  easiest.  Hitherto  her  intermittent  im- 
pulses of  resistance  had  sufficed  to  maintain  her  self-re- 
spect. If  she  slipped  she  recovered  her  footing,  and  it  was 
only  afterward  that  she  w'as  aware  of  having  recovered 
it  each  time  on  a slightly  lower  level.  She  had  rejected 
[ 422  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

Rosedale’s  offer  without  conscious  effort;  her  whole  be- 
ing had  risen  against  it;  and  she  did  not  yet  perceive 
that,  by  the  mere  act  of  listening  to  him,  she  had  learned 
to  live  with  ideas  which  would  once  have  been  intoler- 
able to  her. 

To  Gerty  Parish,  keeping  watch  over  her  with  a tenderer 
if  less  discerning  eye  than  Mrs,  Fisher’s,  the  results  of 
the  struggle  were  already  distinctly  visible.  She  did  not, 
indeed,  know  what  hostages  Lily  had  already  given  to 
expediency;  but  she  saw  her  passionately  and  irretriev- 
ably pledged  to  the  ruinous  policy  of  “keeping  up.” 
Gerty  could  smile  now  at  her  own  early  dream  of  her 
friend’s  renovation  through  adversity:  she  understood 
clearly  enough  that  Lily  was  not  of  those  to  whom  pri-\ 
vation  teaches  the  unimportance  of  what  they  have  lost. 
But  this  very  fact,  to  Gerty,  made  her  friend  the  more 
piteously  in  want  of  aid,  the  more  exposed  to  the  claims 
of  a tenderness  she  was  so  little  conscious  of  needing. 

Lily,  since  her  return  to  town,  had  not  often  climbed 
Miss  Parish’s  stairs.  There  was  something  irritating  to 
her  in  the  mute  interrogation  of  Gerty’s  sympathy:  she 
felt  the  real  difficulties  of  her  situation  to  be  incommuni- 
cable to  any  one  whose  theory  of  values  was  so  different 
from  her  own,  and  the  restrictions  of  Gerty’s  life,  which 
had  once  had  the  charm  of  contrast,  now  reminded  her 
too  painfully  of  the  limits  to  which  her  own  existence 
[ 423  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


was  shrinking.  When  at  length,  one  afternoon,  she  put 
into  execution  the  belated  resolve  to  visit  her  friend, 
this  sense  of  shrunken  opportunities  possessed  her  vith 
unusual  intensity.  The  walk  up  Fifth  Avenue,  unfold- 
ing before  her,  in  the  brilliance  of  the  hard  winter  sun- 
light, an  interminable  procession  of  fastidiously-equipped 
carriages — giving  her,  through  the  little  squares  of 
brougham-windows,  peeps  of  familiar  profiles  bent  above 
visiting-lists,  of  hurried  hands  dispensing  notes  and 
cards  to  attendant  footmen — this  glimpse  of  the  ever- 
revolving  wheels  of  the  great  social  machine  made  Lily 
more  than  ever  conscious  of  the  steepness  and  narrow- 
ness of  Gerty’s  stairs,  and  of  the  cramped  blind-alley 
of  life  to  which  they  led.  Dull  stairs  destined  to  be 
mounted  by  duU  people:  how  many  thousands  of  insig- 
nificant figures  were  going  up  and  down  such  stairs  aU 
over  the  world  at  that  very  moment — figures  as  shabby 
and  uninteresting  as  that  of  the  middle-aged  lady  in 
limp  black  who  descended  Gerty’s  flight  as  Lily  climbed 
to  it! 

“That  was  poor  Miss  Jane  Silverton — she  came  to 
talk  things  over  with  me:  she  and  her  sister  want  to 
do  something  to  support  themselves,”  Gerty  explained, 
as  Lily  followed  her  into  the  sitting-room. 

“To  support  themselves?  Are  they  so  hard  up?” 
Miss  Bart  asked  with  a touch  of  indtation : she  had  not 
come  to  listen  to  the  woes  of  other  people. 

[ 424  J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

“I ’m  afraid  they  have  nothing  left:  Ned’s  debts  have 
swallowed  up  everything.  They  had  such  hopes,  you 
know,  when  he  broke  away  from  Carry  Fisher;  they 
thought  Bertha  Dorset  would  be  such  a good  influence, 
because  she  does  n’t  care  for  cards,  and — well,  she  talked 
quite  beautifully  to  poor  Miss  Jane  about  feeling  as  if 
Ned  were  her  younger  brother,  and  wanting  to  carry 
him  off  on  the  yacht,  so  that  he  might  have  a chance  to 
drop  cards  and  racing,  and  take  up  his  literary  work 
again.” 

Miss  Farish  paused  with  a sigh  which  reflected  the 
perplexity  of  her  departing  visitor.  “But  that  is  n’t  all; 
it  is  n’t  even  the  worst.  It  seems  that  Ned  has  quarrelled 
with  the  Dorsets;  or  at  least  Bertha  won’t  allow  him 
to  see  her,  and  he  is  so  unhappy  about  it  that  he  has 
taken  to  gambling  again,  and  going  about  with  all 
sorts  of  queer  people.  And  cousin  Grace  Van  Osburgh 
accuses  him  of  having  had  a very  bad  influence  on 
Bertie,  who  left  Harvard  last  spring,  and  has  been  a 
great  deal  with  Ned  ever  since.  She  sent  for  Miss  Jane, 
and  made  a dreadful  scene;  and  Jack  Stepney  and  Her- 
bert Melson,  who  were  there  too,  told  Miss  Jane  that 
Bertie  was  threatening  to  marry  some  dreadful  woman 
to  whom  Ned  had  introduced  him,  and  that  they  could 
do  nothing  with  him  because  now  he ’s  of  age  he  has  his 
own  money.  You  can  fancy  how  poor  Miss  Jane  felt — 
she  came  to  me  at  once,  and  seemed  to  think  that  if  I 
[ 425  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


could  get  her  something  to  do  she  could  earn  enough  to 
pay  Ned’s  debts  and  send  him  away— I’m  afraid  she 
has  no  idea  how  long  it  would  take  her  to  pay  for  one 
of  his  evenings  at  bridge.  And  he  was  horribly  in  debt 
when  he  came  back  from  the  cruise — I can’t  see  why  he 
should  have  spent  so  much  more  money  under  Bertha’s 
influence  than  Carry’s:  can  you.?” 

Lily  met  this  query  with  an  impatient  gesture.  “IMy 
dear  Gerty,  I always  understand  how  people  can  spend 
much  more  money — never  how  they  can  spend  any  less!” 

She  loosened  her  furs  and  settled  herself  in  Gerty’s 
easy-chair,  while  her  friend  busied  herself  with  the 
tea-cups. 

“But  what  can  they  do — the  Miss  Silvertons.?  How 
do  they  mean  to  support  themselves.?”  she  asked,  con- 
scious that  the  note  of  irritation  still  persisted  in  her 
voice.  It  was  the  very  last  topic  she  had  meant  to  dis- 
cuss— it  really  did  not  interest  her  in  the  least — but 
she  was  seized  by  a sudden  perverse  curiosity  to  know 
how  the  two  colourless  shrinking  victims  of  young  Sil- 
verton’s  sentimental  experiments  meant  to  cope  with  the 
grim  necessity  which  lurked  so  close  to  her  own  thi'eshold. 

“I  don’t  know — I am  trying  to  find  something  for 
them.  Miss  Jane  reads  aloud  very  nicely — but  it’s  so 
hard  to  find  any  one  who  is  willing  to  be  read  to.  And 
Miss  Annie  paints  a little ” 

“Oh,  I know — apple-blossoms  on  blotting-paper; 

[ 426  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


just  the  kind  of  thing  I shall  be  doing  myself  before 
long!”  exclaimed  Lily,  starting  up  with  a vehemence  of 
movement  that  threatened  destruction  to  Miss  Parish’s 
fragile  tea-table. 

Lily  bent  over  to  steady  the  cups;  then  she  sank  back 
into  her  seat.  “I ’d  forgotten  there  was  no  room  to  dash 
about  in — how  beautifully  one  does  have  to  behave  in 
a small  flat!  Oh,  Gei’ty,  I wasn’t  meant  to  be  good,” 
she  sighed  out  incoherently. 

Gerty  lifted  an  apprehensive  look  to  her  pale  face,  in 
which  the  eyes  shone  with  a peculiar  sleepless  lustre. 

“You  look  horribly  tired,  Lily;  take  your  tea,  and 
let  me  give  you  this  cushion  to  lean  against.” 

Miss  Bart  accepted  the  cup  of  tea,  but  put  back  the 
cushion  with  an  impatient  hand. 

“Don’t  give  me  that!  I don’t  want  to  lean  back — I 
shall  go  to  sleep  if  I do.” 

“Well,  why  not,  dear.^  I’ll  be  as  quiet  as  a mouse,” 
Gerty  urged  affectionately. 

“No — no;  don’t  be  quiet;  talk  to  me — keep  me  awake! 
I don’t  sleep  at  night,  and  in  the  afternoon  a dreadful 
drowsiness  creeps  over  me.” 

“You  don’t  sleep  at  night.?  Since  when.?” 

“I  don’t  know — I can’t  remember.”  She  rose  and  put 
the  empty  cup  on  the  tea-tray.  “Another,  and  stronger, 
please;  if  I don’t  keep  awake  now  I shall  see  horrors  to- 
night— perfect  horrors!” 

r.  427  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


*‘But  they’ll  be  worse  if  you  drink  too  much  tea.” 

“No,  no — give  it  to  me;  and  don’t  preach,  please,” 
Lily  returned  imperiously.  Her  voice  had  a dangerous 
edge,  and  Gertie  noticed  that  her  hand  shook  as  she  held 
it  out  to  receive  the  second  cup. 

“But  you  look  so  tired:  I ’m  sure  you  must  be  ill ” 

Miss  Bart  set  down  her  cup  with  a start.  “Do  I look 
ill.?  Does  my  face  show  it.?”  She  rose  and  walked  quickly 
toward  the  little  mirror  above  the  writing-table.  “MTiat 
a horrid  looking-glass — it’s  all  blotched  and  discoloured. 
Any  one  would  look  ghastly  in  it!”  She  turned  back, 
fixing  her  plaintive  eyes  on  Gerty.  “You  stupid  dear, 
why  do  you  say  such  odious  things  to  me.?  It’s  enough 
to  make  one  ill  to  be  told  one  looks  so!  And  looking  ill 
means  looking  uglv,”  She  caught  Gerty’s  wrists,  and 
drew  her  close  to  the  window.  “After  all,  I ’d  rather 
know  the  truth.  Look  me  straight  in  the  face,  Gerty, 
and  tell  me:  am  I perfectly  fi-ightful.?” 

“You’re  perfectly  beautiful  now,  Lily:  your  eyes  are 
shining,  and  your  cheeks  have  grown  so  pink  all  of  a 
sudden ” 

“Ah,  they  were  pale,  then — ghastly  pale,  when  I came 
in?  Why  don’t  you  tell  me  frankly  that  I’m  a wreck? 
My  eyes  are  bright  now  because  I’m  so  nervous — but  in 
the  mornings  they  look  like  lead.  And  I can  see  the  lines 
coming  in  my  face — the  lines  of  woiTy  and  disappoint- 
ment and  failure  1 Every  sleepless  night  leaves  a new  one 
[ 428  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


— and  how  can  I sleep,  when  I have  such  dresuiful  things 
to  think  about?” 

“Dreadful  things — what  things?”  asked  Gerty,  gently 
detaching  her  wrists  from  her  friend’s  feverish  fingers. 

“What  things?  Well,  poverty,  for  one — and  I don’t 
know  any  that ’s  more  dreadful.”  Lily  turned  away  and 
sank  with  sudden  weariness  into  the  easy-chair  near  the 
tea-table.  “You  asked  me  just  now  if  I could  understand 
why  Ned  Silverton  spent  so  much  money.  Of  course  I 
understand — he  spends  it  on  living  with  the  rich.  You 
think  we  live  on  the  rich,  rather  than  with  them:  and  so 
we  do,  in  a sense — but  it’s  a privilege  we  have  to  pay 
for!  We  eat  their  dinners,  and  drink  their  wine,  and 
smoke  their  cigarettes,  and  use  their  carriages  and  their 
opera-boxes  and  their  private  cars — yes,  but  there’s  a 
tax  to  pay  on  every  one  of  those  luxuries.  The  man 
pays  it  by  big  tips  to  the  servants,  by  playing  cards  be- 
yond his  means,  by  flowers  and  presents — and — and — 
lots  of  other  things  that  cost;  the  girl  pays  it  by  tips 
and  cards  too — oh,  yes,  I ’ve  had  to  take  up  bridge  again 
— and  by  going  to  the  best  dress-makers,  and  having 
just  the  right  dress  for  every  occasion,  and  always  keep- 
ing herself  fresh  and  exquisite  and  amusing!” 

She  leaned  back  for  a moment,  closing  her  eyes,  and 
as  she  sat  there,  her  pale  lips  slightly  parted,  and  the 
lids  dropped  aOove  her  fagged  brilliant  gaze,  Gerty  had 
a startled  perception  of  the  change  in  her  face — of  the 
[ 429  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


way  in  which  an  ashen  daylight  seemed  suddenly  to  ex- 
tinguish its  artificial  brightness.  She  looked  up,  and  the 
vision  vanished. 

“ It  does  n’t  sound  very  amusing,  does  \t?  And  it  isn’t 
— I’m  sick  to  death  of  it!  And  yet  the  thought  of  giv- 
ing it  all  up  nearly  kills  me — it’s  what  keeps  me  awake 
at  night,  and  makes  me  so  crazy  for  your  strong  tea. 
For  I can’t  go  on  in  this  way  much  longer,  you  know — 
I’m  nearly  at  the  end  of  my  tether.  And  then  what  can 
I do — how  on  earth  am  I to  keep  myself  alive.^  I see 
myself  reduced  to  the  fate  of  that  poor  Silverton  woman 
— slinking  about  to  emplo^ynnent  agencies,  and  trying 
to  sell  painted  blotting-pads  to  Women’s  Exchanges  I 
And  there  are  thousands  and  thousands  of  women  trying 
to  do  the  same  thing  already,  and  not  one  of  the  num- 
ber who  has  less  idea  how  to  earn  a dollar  than  I have !” 

She  rose  again  with  a hurried  glance  at  the  clock. 
“It’s  late,  and  I must  be  off — -I  have  an  appointment 
with  Carry  Fisher.  Do  n’t  look  so  wori’ied,  you  dear  thing 
— do  n’t  think  too  much  about  the  nonsense  I’ve  been 
talking.”  She  was  before  the  mirror  again,  adjusting  her 
hair  with  a light  hand,  drawing  down  her  veil,  and  giv- 
ing a dexterous  touch  to  her  furs.  “Of  course,  you  know, 
it  hasn’t  come  to  the  employment  agencies  and  the 
painted  blotting-pads  yet ; but  I’m  rather  hard-up  just 
for  the  moment,  and  if  I could  find  something  to  do — 
notes  to  write  and  visiting-lists  to  make  up,  or  that  kind 
[ 430  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


of  thing — it  would  tide  me  over  till  the  legacy  is  paid. 
And  Carry  has  promised  to  find  somebody  who  wants  a 
kind  of  social  secretary — you  know  she  makes  a specialty 
of  the  helpless  rich.” 

Miss  Bart  had  not  revealed  to  Gerty  the  full  extent 
of  her  anxiety.  She  was  in  fact  in  urgent  and  immediate 
need  of  money:  money  to  meet  the  vulgar  weekly  claims 
which  could  neither  be  deferred  nor  evaded.  To  give  up 
her  apartment,  and  shrink  to  the  obscurity  of  a boarding- 
house, or  the  provisional  hospitality  of  a bed  in  Gerty 
Parish’s  sitting-room,  was  an  expedient  which  could  only 
postpone  the  problem  confronting  her;  and  it  seemed 
wiser  as  well  as  more  agreeable  to  remain  where  she  was 
and  find  some  means  of  earning  her  living.  The  possi- 
bility of  having  to  do  this  was  one  which  she  had  never 
before  seriously  considered,  and  the  discovery  that,  as  a 
bread-winner,  she  was  likely  to  prove  as  helpless  and 
ineffectual  as  poor  Miss  Silverton,  was  a severe  shock  to 
her  self-confidence. 

Having  been  accustomed  to  take  herself  at  the  popu- 
lar valuation,  as  a person  of  energy  and  resource,  natu- 
rally fitted  to  dominate  any  situation  in  which  she  found 
herself,  she  vaguely  imagined  that  such  gifts  would  be 
of  value  to  seekers  after  social  guidance;  but  there  was 
unfortunately  no  specific  head  under  which  the  art  of 
saying  and  doing  the  right  thing  could  be  offered  in  the 
[ 431  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

market,  and  even  Mrs.  Fisher’s  resourcefulness  failed  be- 
fore the  difficulty  of  discovering  a workable  vein  in  the 
vague  wealth  of  Lily’s  graces.  Mrs.  Fisher  was  full  of  in- 
direct expedients  for  enabling  her  friends  to  earn  a li\dng, 
and  could  conscientiously  assert  that  she  had  put  several 
opportunities  of  this  kind  before  Lily;  but  more  legiti- 
mate methods  of  bread-winning  were  as  much  out  of  her 
line  as  they  were  beyond  the  capacity  of  the  sufferers  she 
was  generally  called  upon  to  assist.  Lily’s  failure  to  pro- 
fit by  the  chances  already  afforded  her  might,  moreover, 
have  justified  the  abandonment  of  farther  effort  on  her 
behalf;  but  Mrs.  Fisher’s  inexhaustible  good-nature  made 
her  an  adept  at  creating  artificial  demands  in  response 
to  an  actual  supply.  In  the  pursuance  of  this  end  she  at 
once  started  on  a voyage  of  disccveiy  in  Miss  Bart’s  be- 
half; and  as  the  result  of  her  explorations  she  now  sum- 
moned the  latter  with  the  announcement  that  she  had 
“found  something.” 

Left  to  herself,  Gerty  mused  distressfully  upon  her  fidend’s 
plight,  and  her  own  inability  to  relieve  it.  It  was  clear 
to  her  that  Lily,  for  the  present,  had  no  wish  for  the  kind 
of  help  she  could  give.  Miss  Farish  could  see  no  hope  for 
her  friend  but  in  a life  completely  reorganized  and  de- 
tached from  its  old  associations;  whereas  all  Lily’s  ener- 
gies were  centred  in  the  determined  effort  to  hold  fast 
to  those  associations,  to  keep  herself  visibly  identified 
[ 432  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


with  them,  as  long  as  the  illusion  could  be  maintained. 
Pitiable  as  such  an  attitude  seemed  to  Gerty,  she  could 
not  judge  it  as  harshly  as  Selden,  for  instance,  might 
have  done.  She  had  not  forgotten  the  night  of  emo- 
tion when  she  and  Lily  had  lain  in  each  other’s  arms, 
and  she  had  seemed  to  feel  her  very  heart’s  blood  pass- 
ing into  her  friend.  The  sacrifice  she  had  made  had 
seemed  unavailing  enough;  no  trace  remained  in  Lily  of 
the  subduing  influences  of  that  hour;  but  Gerty’s  tender- 
ness, disciplined  by  long  years  of  contact  with  obscure 
and  inarticulate  suffering,  could  wait  on  its  object  with 
a silent  forbearance  which  took  no  account  of  time.  She 
could  not,  however,  deny  herself  the  solace  of  taking 
anxious  counsel  with  Lawrence  Selden,  with  whom,  since 
his  return  from  Europe,  she  had  renewed  her  old  relation 
of  cousinly  confidence. 

Selden  himself  had  never  been  aware  of  any  change  in 
their  relation.  He  found  Gerty  as  he  had  left  her,  simple, 
undemanding  and  devoted,  but  vdth  a quickened  intelli- 
gence of  the  heart  which  he  recognized  without  seeking 
to  explain  it.  To  Gerty  herself  it  would  once  have  seemed 
impossible  that  she  should  ever  again  talk  freely  with  him 
of  Lily  Bart;  but  what  had  passed  in  the  secrecy  of  her 
own  breast  seemed  to  resolve  itself,  when  the  mist  of  the 
struggle  cleared,  into  a breaking  down  of  the  bounds  of 
self,  a deflecting  of  the  wasted  personal  emotion  into  the 
general  current  of  human  understanding. 

[ 433  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


It  was  not  till  some  two  weeks  after  her  visit  from  Lily 
that  Gerty  had  the  opportunity  of  communicating  her 
fears  to  Selden.  The  latter,  havir:g  presented  himself  on 
a Sunday  afternoon,  had  lingered  on  through  the  dowdy 
animation  of  his  cousin’s  tea-hour,  conscious  of  some- 
thing in  her  voice  and  eye  which  solicited  a word  apart; 
and  as  soon  as  the  last  visitor  was  gone  Gerty  opened 
her  case  by  asking  how  lately  he  had  seen  IMiss  Bart. 

Selden’s  perceptible  pause  gave  her  time  for  a slight 
stir  of  surprise. 

“I  haven’t  seen  her  at  all — I’ve  perpetually  missed 
seeing  her  since  she  came  back.” 

This  unexpected  admission  made  Gerty  pause  too; 
and  she  was  still  hesitating  on  the  brink  of  her  sub- 
ject when  he  relieved  her  by  adding:  “I’ve  wanted  to 
see  her — but  she  seems  to  have  been  absorbed  by  the 
Gormer  set  since  her  return  from  Europe.” 

“That’s  all  the  more  reason:  she’s  been  very  un- 
happy.” 

“Unhappy  at  being  with  the  Gormers.^” 

“Oh,  I don’t  defend  her  intimacy  with  the  Gormers; 
but  that  too  is  at  an  end  now,  I think.  You  know  peo- 
ple have  been  very  unkind  since  Bertha  Dorset  quarrelled 
with  her.” 

“Ah ” Selden  exclaimed,  rising  abruptly  to  walk 

to  the  window,  where  he  remained  with  his  eyes  on  the 
darkening  street  while  his  cousin  continued  to  explain- 
[ 434.  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Judy  Trenor  and  her  own  family  have  deserted  her  too 
• — and  all  because  Bertha  Dorset  has  said  such  horrible 
things.  And  she  is  vei  j poor — you  know  Mrs.  Peniston 
cut  her  off  with  a small  legacy,  after  giving  her  to  un- 
derstand that  she  was  to  have  everything.” 

“Yes — I know,”  Selden  assented  curtly,  turning 
back  into  the  room,  but  only  to  stir  about  with  restless 
steps  in  the  circumscribed  space  between  door  and  win- 
dow. “Yes — she’s  been  abominably  treated;  but  it’s 
unfortunately  the  precise  thing  that  a man  who  wants 
to  show  his  sympathy  can’t  say  to  her.” 

His  words  caused  Gerty  a slight  chill  of  disappoint- 
ment. “There  would  be  other  ways  of  showing  your 
sympathy,”  she  suggested. 

Selden,  with  a slight  laugh,  sat  down  beside  her  on 
the  little  sofa  which  projected  from  the  hearth.  “What 
are  you  thinking  of,  you  incorrigible  missionary.?”  he 
asked. 

Gerty’s  colour  rose,  and  her  blush  was  for  a moment 
her  only  answer.  Then  she  made  it  more  explicit  by 
saying:  “I  am  thinking  of  the  fact  that  you  and  she 
used  to  be  great  friends — that  she  used  to  care  im- 
mensely for  what  you  thought  of  her — and  that,  if  she 
takes  your  staying  away  as  a sign  of  what  you  think 
now,  I can  imagine  its  adding  a great  deal  to  her  un- 
happiness.” 

“My  dear  child,  don’t  add  to  it  still  more — at  least 
[ 435  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


to  your  conception  of  it — by  attributing  to  her  aU 
sorts  of  susceptibilities  of  your  own.”  Selden,  for  his 
life,  could  not  keep  a note  of  dryness  out  of  his  voice; 
but  he  met  Gerty’s  look  of  perplexity  by  saying  more 
mildly:  “But,  though  you  immensely  exaggerate  the 
importance  of  anything  I could  do  for  Miss  Bart,  you 
can’t  exaggerate  my  readiness  to  do  it — if  you  ask  me 
to.”  He  laid  his  hand  for  a moment  on  hers,  and  there 
passed  between  them,  on  the  current  of  the  rare  con- 
tact, one  of  those  exchanges  of  meaning  which  fill  the 
hidden  reservoirs  of  affection.  Gerty  had  the  feeling 
that  he  measured  the  cost  of  her  request  as  plainly  as 
she  read  the  significance  of  his  reply;  and  the  sense  of 
all  that  was  suddenly  clear  between  them  made  her  next 
words  easier  to  find. 

“I  do  ask  you,  then;  I ask  you  because  she  once  told 
me  that  you  had  been  a help  to  her,  and  because  she 
needs  help  now  as  she  has  never  needed  it  before.  You 
know  how  dependent  she  has  ahvays  been  on  ease  and 
luxury — how  she  has  hated  what  was  shabby  and  ugly 
and  uncomfortable.  She  can’t  help  it — she  was  brought 
up  with  those  ideas,  and  has  never  been  able  to  find 
her  way  out  of  them.  But  now  all  the  things  she  cared 
for  have  been  taken  from  her,  and  the  people  who 
taught  her  to  care  for  them  have  abandoned  her  too; 
and  it  seems  to  me  that  if  some  one  could  reach  out 
a hand  and  show  her  the  other  side — show  her  how 
[ 436  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


much  is  left  in  life  and  in  herself ” Gerty  broke 

off,  abashed  at  the  sound  of  her  own  eloquence,  and 
impeded  by  the  difficulty  of  giving  precise  expression 
to  her  vague  yearning  for  her  friend’s  retrieval.  “I  can’t 
help  her  myself : she ’s  passed  out  of  my  reach,”  she  con- 
tinued. “I  think  she’s  afraid  of  being  a burden  to  me. 
When  she  was  last  here,  two  weeks  ago,  she  seemed 
dreadfully  worried  about  her  future:  she  said  Carry 
Fisher  was  trying  to  find  something  for  her  to  do.  A 
few  days  later  she  wrote  me  that  she  had  taken  a posi- 
tion as  private  secretary,  and  that  I was  not  to  be 
anxious,  for  everything  was  all  right,  and  she  would 
come  in  and  tell  me  about  it  when  she  had  time;  but 
she  has  never  come,  and  I don’t  like  to  go  to  her,  be- 
cause I am  afraid  of  forcing  myself  on  her  when  I ’m  not 
wanted.  Once,  when  we  were  children,  and  I had  rushed 
up  after  a long  separation,  and  thrown  my  arms  about 
her,  she  said:  ‘Please  don’t  kiss  me  unless  I ask  you  to, 
Gerty’ — and  she  did  ask  me,  a minute  later;  but  since 
then  I ’ve  always  waited  to  be  asked.” 

Selden  had  listened  in  silence,  with  the  concentrated 
look  which  his  thin  dark  face  could  assume  when  he 
wished  to  guard  it  against  any  involuntary  change  of 
expression.  When  his  cousin  ended,  he  said  with  a 
slight  smile:  “Since  you’ve  learned  the  wisdom  of  wait- 
ing, I don’t  see  why  you  urge  me  to  rush  in ” but 

the  troubled  appeal  of  her  eyes  made  him  add,  as  he 

[ ], 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


rose  to  take  leave ; “ Still,  I ’ll  do  what  you  wish,  and  no< 
hold  you  responsible  for  my  failure.” 

Selden’s  avoidance  of  Miss  Bart  had  not  been  as  un* 
intentional  as  he  had  allowed  his  cousin  to  think.  At 
first,  indeed,  while  the  memory  of  their  last  hour  at  Monte 
Carlo  still  held  the  full  heat  of  his  indignation,  he  had 
anxiously  watched  for  her  return;  but  she  had  disap- 
pointed him  by  lingering  in  England,  and  when  she  fi- 
nally reappeared  it  happened  that  business  had  called 
him  to  the  West,  whence  he  came  back  only  to  learn  thal 
she  was  starting  for  Alaska  with  the  Gormers.  The  reve- 
lation of  this  suddenly-established  intimacy  effectually 
chilled  his  desire  to  see  her.  If,  at  a moment  when  her 
whole  life  seemed  to  be  breaking  up,  she  could  cheerfully 
commit  its  reconstruction  to  the  Gormers,  there  was  no 
reason  why  such  accidents  should  ever  strike  her  as  irre- 
parable. Every  step  she  took  seemed  in  fact  to  carry  her 
farther  from  the  region  where,  once  or  twice,  he  and  she 
had  met  for  an  illumined  moment;  and  the  recognition 
of  this  fact,  when  its  first  pang  had  been  surmounted, 
produced  in  him  a sense  of  negative  relief.  It  was  much 
simpler  for  him  to  judge  Miss  Bart  by  her  habitual  con- 
duct than  by  the  rare  deviations  from  it  which  had 
:hrown  her  so  disturbingly  in  his  way ; and  every  act  of 
hers  which  made  the  recuiTence  of  such  deviations  more 
unlikely,  confirmed  the  sense  of  relief  with  which  he  re- 
turned to  the  conventional  view  of  her. 

[ 438  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


But  Gerty  Farish’s  words  had  sufficed  to  make  him  see 
how  little  this  view  was  really  his,  and  how  impossible  it 
was  for  him  to  live  quietly  with  the  thought  of  Lily  Bart. 
To  hear  that  she  was  in  need  of  help — even  such  vague 
help  as  he  could  offer — was  to  be  at  once  repossessed  by 
that  thought;  and  by  the  time  he  reached  the  street  he 
had  sufficiently  convinced  himself  of  the  urgency  of  his 
cousin’s  appeal  to  turn  his  steps  directly  toward  Lily’s 
hotel. 

There  his  zeal  met  a check  in  the  unforeseen  news  that 
Miss  Bart  had  moved  away ; but,  on  his  pressing  his  en- 
quiries, the  clerk  remembered  that  she  had  left  an  ad- 
dress, for  which  he  presently  began  to  search  through  his 
books. 

It  was  certainly  strange  that  she  should  have  taken 
this  step  without  letting  Gerty  Farish  know  of  her  de- 
cision ; and  Selden  waited  with  a vague  sense  of  uneasi- 
ness while  the  address  was  sought  for.  The  process  lasted 
long  enough  for  uneasiness  to  turn  to  apprehension;  but 
when  at  length  a slip  of  paper  was  handed  him,  and  he 
read  on  it:  “Care  of  Mrs.  Norma  Hatch,  Emporium 
Hotel,”  his  apprehension  passed  into  an  incredulous  stare, 
and  this  into  the  gesture  of  disgust  with  which  he  tore 
the  paper  in  two,  and  turned  to  walk  quickly  homeward. 


[ 439  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


IX 


HEN  Lily  woke  on  the  morning  after  her  transla- 


T V tion  to  the  Emporium  Hotel,  her  first  feeling  was 
one  of  purely  physical  satisfaction.  The  force  of  contrast 
gave  an  added  keenness  to  the  luxury  of  lying  once  more 
in  a soft-pillowed  bed,  and  looking  across  a spacious  sun- 
lit room  at  a breakfast-table  set  invitingly  near  the  fire. 
Analysis  and  introspection  might  come  later;  but  for  the 
moment  she  was  not  even  troubled  by  the  excesses  of  the 
upholstery  or  the  restless  convolutions  of  the  furniture. 
The  sense  of  being  once  more  lapped  and  folded  in  ease 
as  in  some  dense  mild  medium  impenetrable  to  discom- 
fort, effectually  stilled  the  faintest  note  of  criticism. 

When,  the  afternoon  before,  she  had  presented  her 
self  to  the  lady  to  whom  Carry  Fisher  had  directed  her. 
she  had  been  conscious  of  entering  a new  world.  Carry’? 
vague  presentment  of  Mrs.  Norma  Hatch  (whose  re- 
version to  her  Christian  name  was  explained  as  the  re- 
sult of  her  latest  divorce),  left  her  under  the  implication 
of  coming  “from  the  West,”  with  the  not  unusual  ex- 
tenuation of  having  brought  a gi’eat  deal  of  money  with 
her.  She  was,  in  short,  rich,  helpless,  unplaced:  the  very 
subject  for  Lily’s  hand.  Mrs.  Fisher  had  not  specified  the 
line  her  friend  was  to  take;  she  owned  herself  unac- 
quainted with  Mrs.  Hatch,  whom  she  “knew  about” 
through  Melville  Stancy,  a lawyer  in  his  leisure  moment^ 


[ 440  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

and  the  FalstafF  of  a certain  section  of  festive  club  life. 
Socially,  Mr.  Stancy  might  have  been  said  to  form  a con- 
necting link  between  the  Gormer  world  and  the  more 
dimly-lit  region  on  which  Miss  Bart  now  found  herself 
entering.  It  was,  however,  only  figuratively  that  the  illu- 
mination of  Mrs.  Hatch’s  world  could  be  described  as 
dim:  in  actual  fact,  Lily  found  her  seated  in  a blaze  of 
electric  light,  impartially  projected  from  various  orna- 
mental excrescences  on  a vast  concavity  of  pink  damask 
and  gilding,  from  which  she  rose  like  Venus  from  her  shell. 
The  analogy  was  justified  by  the  appearance  of  the  lady, 
whose  large-eyed  prettiness  had  the  fixity  of  something 
impaled  and  shown  under  glass.  This  did  not  preclude 
the  immediate  discovery  that  she  was  some  years  younger 
than  her  visitor,  and  that  under  her  showiness,  her  ease, 
the  aggression  of  her  dress  and  voice,  there  persisted  that 
ineradicable  innocence  which,  in  ladies  of  her  nationality, 
so  curiously  coexists  with  startling  extremes  of  experi- 
ence. 

The  environment  in  which  Lily  found  herself  was  as 
strange  to  her  as  its  inhabitants.  She  was  unacquainted 
with  the  world  of  the  fashionable  New  York  hotel — a 
world  over-heated,  over-upholstered,  and  over-fitted  with 
mechanical  appliances  for  the  gratification  of  fantastic 
requirements,  while  the  comforts  of  a civilized  life  were 
as  unattainable  as  in  a desert.  Through  this  atmosphere 
of  torrid  splendour  moved  wan  beings  as  richly  uphol- 
[ 441  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


stered  as  the  furniture,  beings  without  definite  pursuits 
or  permanent  relations,  who  drifted  on  a languid  tide  of 
curiosity  from  restaurant  to  concert-hall,  from  palm-gar- 
den to  music-room,  from  “art  exhibit”  to  dress-maker’s 
opening.  High-stepping  horses  or  elaborately  equipped 
motors  waited  to  carry  these  ladies  into  vague  metro- 
politan distances,  Avhence  they  returned,  still  more  wan 
from  the  weight  of  their  sables,  to  be  sucked  back  into 
the  stifling  inertia  of  the  hotel  routine.  Somewhere  be- 
hind them,  in  the  background  of  their  lives,  there  was 
doubtless  a real  past,  peopled  by  real  Kita'an  activities: 
they  themselves  were  probably  the  product  of  strong 
ambitions,  persistent  energies,  diversified  contacts  with 
the  wholesome  roughness  of  life;  yet  they  had  no  more 
real  existence  than  the  poet’s  shades  in  limbo. 

Lily  had  not  been  long  in  this  pallid  world  without 
discovering  that  Mrs.  Hatch  was  its  most  substantial 
figure.  That  lady,  though  still  floating  in  the  void,  showed 
faint  symptoms  of  developing  an  outline;  and  in  this  en- 
deavour she  was  actively  seconded  by  Mr.  Melville  Stancy. 
It  was  Mr.  Stancy,  a man  of  large  resounding  presence, 
suggestive  of  convivial  occasions  and  of  a chivalry  find- 
ing expression  in  “first-night”  boxes  and  thousand  dol- 
lar bonbonnieres,  who  had  transplanted  Mrs.  Hatch  from 
the  scene  of  her  first  development  to  the  higher  stage  of 
hotel  life  in  the  metropolis.  It  was  he  who  had  selected 
the  horses  with  which  she  had  taken  the  blue  ribbon  at 
[ 442  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  Show,  had  introduced  her  to  the  photographer  whose 
portraits  of  her  formed  the  recurring  ornament  of  “Sun- 
day Supplements,”  and  had  got  together  the  group  which 
constituted  her  social  world.  It  was  a small  group  still, 
with  heterogeneous  figures  suspended  in  large  unpeopled 
spaces;  but  Lily  did  not  take  long  to  learn  that  its  reg- 
ulation was  no  longer  in  Mr.  Stancy’s  hands.  As  often 
happens,  the  pupil  had  outstripped  the  teacher,  and  Mrs. 
Hatch  was  already  aware  of  heights  of  elegance  as  well 
as  depths  of  luxury  beyond  the  world  of  the  Emporium. 
This  discovery  i bt  once  produced  in  her  a craving  for 
higher  guidance,  for  the  adroit  feminine  hand  which 
should  give  the  right  turn  to  her  correspondence,  the 
right  “look”  to  her  hats,  the  right  succession  to  the 
items  of  her  menus.  It  was,  in  short,  as  the  regulator  of 
a germinating  social  life  that  Miss  Bart’s  guidance  was 
required;  her  ostensible  duties  as  secretary  being  re- 
stricted by  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Hatch,  as  yet,  knew  hardly 
any  one  to  write  to. 

The  daily  details  of  Mrs.  Hatch’s  existence  were  as 
strange  to  Lily  as  its  general  tenor.  The  lady’s  habits 
were  marked  by  an  Oriental  indolence  and  disorder  pe- 
culiarly trying  to  her  companion.  Mrs.  Hatch  and  her 
friends  seemed  to  float  together  outside  the  bounds  of 
time  and  space.  No  definite  hours  were  kept;  no  fixed 
obligations  existed:  night  and  day  flowed  into  one  an- 
other in  a blur  of  confused  and  retarded  engagements, 
[ 443  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


so  that  one  had  the  impression  of  lunching  at  the  tear 
hour,  while  dinner  was  often  merged  in  the  noisy  after- 
theatre supper  which  prolonged  Mrs.  Hatch’s  \ugil  till 
day-light. 

Through  this  jumble  of  futile  activities  came  and  went 
a strange  throng  of  hangers-on — manicures,  beauty- 
doctors,  hair-dressers,  teachers  of  bridge,  of  French, 
of  “physical  development”;  figures  sometimes  indistin- 
guishable, by  their  appearance,  or  by  Mrs.  Hatch’s  re- 
lation to  them,  from  the  visitors  constituting  her  re- 
cognized society.  But  strangest  of  all  to  Lily  was  the 
encounter,  in  this  latter  group,  of  several  of  her  acquain- 
tances. She  had  supposed,  and  not  without  relief,  that 
she  w£is  passing,  for  the  moment,  completely  out  of  her 
own  circle;  but  she  found  that  Mr.  Stancy,  one  side  of 
whose  sprawling  existence  overlapped  the  edge  of  Mrs. 
Fisher’s  world,  had  di-awn  several  of  its  brightest  orna- 
ments into  the  circle  of  the  Emporium.  To  find  Ned 
Silverton  among  the  habitual  frequenters  of  Mrs.  Hatch’s 
di’a wing-room  was  one  of  Lily’s  first  astonishments;  but 
she  soon  discovered  that  he  was  not  Mr.  Stancy’s  most 
important  recruit.  It  was  on  little  Freddy  Van  Osbui’gh, 
the  small  slim  heir  of  the  Van  Osburgh  millions,  that  the 
attention  of  Mrs.  Hatch’s  group  was  centred.  Freddy, 
barely  out  of  college,  had  risen  above  the  horizon  since 
Lily’s  eclipse,  and  she  now  saw  with  surprise  what  an 
effulgence  he  shed  on  the  outer  twilight  of  ]Mrs.  Hatch’s 
[ 444  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


existence.  This,  then,  was  one  of  the  things  that  young 
men  “went  in”  for  when  released  from  the  official  social 
routine;  this  was  the  kind  of  “previous  engagement” 
that  so  frequently  caused  them  to  disappoint  the  hopes 
of  anxious  hostesses.  Lily  had  an  odd  sense  of  being  be- 
hind the  social  tapestry,  on  the  side  where  the  threads 
were  knotted  and  the  loose  ends  hung.  For  a moment 
she  found  a certain  amusement  in  the  show,  and  in  her 
own  share  of  it:  the  situation  had  an  ease  and  uncon- 
ventionality distinctly  refreshing  after  her  experience  of 
the  irony  of  conventions.  But  these  flashes  of  amusement 
were  but  brief  reactions  from  the  long  disgust  of  her 
days.  Compared  with  the  vast  gilded  void  of  Mrs.  Hatch’s 
existence,  the  life  of  Lily’  former  friends  seemed  packed 
with  ordered  activities.  Even  the  most  irresponsible 
pretty  woman  of  her  acquaintance  had  her  inherited 
obligations,  her  conventional  benevolences,  her  share  in 
the  working  of  the  great  civic  machine;  and  all  hung 
together  in  the  solidarity  of  these  traditional  functions. 
The  performance  of  specific  duties  would  have  simplified 
Miss  Bart’s  position ; but  the  vague  attendance  on  Mrs. 
Hatch  was  not  without  its  perplexities. 

It  was  not  her  employer  who  created  these  perplexi- 
ties. Mrs.  Hatch  showed  from  the  first  an  almost  touch- 
ing desire  for  Lily’s  approval.  Far  fcom  asserting  the 
superiority  of  wealth,  her  beautiful  eyes  seemed  to  imge 
the  pi  ea  of  inexperience:  she  wanted  to  do  what  was 
[ 446  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“nice,”  to  be  taught  how  to  be  “lovely.”  The  difficulty 
was  to  find  any  point  of  contact  between  her  ideals  and 
Lily’s. 

Mrs.  Hatch  swam  in  a haze  of  indeterminate  enthusi- 
asms, of  aspirations  culled  from  the  stage,  the  newspa- 
pers, the  fashion-journals,  and  a gaudy  world  of  sport 
still  more  completely  beyond  her  companion’s  ken.  To 
separate  from  these  confused  conceptions  those  most 
likely  to  advance  the  lady  on  her  way,  was  Lily’s  obvious 
duty;  but  its  performance  was  hampered  by  rapidly- 
growing  doubts.  Lily  was  in  fact  becoming  more  and 
more  aware  of  a certain  ambiguity  in  her  situation.  It 
was  not  that  she  had,  in  the  conventional  sense,  any 
doubt  of  Mrs.  Hatch’s  irreproachableness.  The  lady’s 
offences  were  always  against  taste  rather  than  conduct; 
her  divorce  record  seemed  due  to  geographical  rather 
than  ethical  conditions ; and  her  worst  laxities  were  likely 
to  proceed  from  a wandering  and  extravagant  good- 
nature. But  if  Lily  did  not  mind  her  detaining  her  mani- 
cure for  luncheon,  or  offering  the  “Beauty-Doctor”  a 
seat  in  Freddy  Van  Osburgh’s  box  at  the  play,  she  was 
not  equally  at  ease  in  regard  to  some  less  apparent  lapses 
from  convention.  Ned  Silverton’s  relation  to  Stancy 
seemed,  for  instance,  closer  and  less  clear  than  any  natu- 
ral affinities  would  warrant;  and  both  appeared  united 
in  the  effort  to  cultivate  Freddy  Van  Osburgh’s  growing 
taste  for  Mrs.  Hatch.  There  was  as  yet  nothing  definable 
[ 446  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


in  the  situation,  which  might  well  resolve  itself  into  a 
huge  joke  on  the  part  of  the  other  two;  but  Lily  had  a 
vague  sense  that  the  subject  of  their  experiment  was  too 
young,  too  rich  and  too  credulous.  Her  embarrassment 
was  increased  by  the  fact  that  Freddy  seemed  to  regard 
her  as  cooperating  with  himself  in  the  social  develop- 
ment of  Mrs.  Hatch : a view  that  suggested,  on  his  part, 
a permanent  interest  in  the  lady’s  future.  There  were 
moments  when  Lily  found  an  ironic  amusement  in  this 
aspect  of  the  case.  The  thought  of  launching  such  a 
missile  as  Mrs.  Hatch  at  the  perfidious  bosom  of  society 
was  not  without  its  charm : Miss  Bart  had  even  beguiled 
her  leisure  with  visions  of  the  fair  Norma  introduced  for 
the  first  time  to  a family  banquet  at  the  Van  Osburghs’. 
But  the  thought  of  being  personally  connected  with  the 
transaction  was  less  agreeable;  and  her  momentary  flashes 
of  amusement  were  followed  by  increasing  periods  of 
doubt. 

The  sense  of  these  doubts  was  uppermost  when,  late 
one  afternoon,  she  was  surprised  by  a visit  from  Lawrence 
Selden.  He  found  her  alone  in  the  wilderness  of  pink 
damask,  for  in  Mrs.  Hatch’s  world  the  tea-hour  was  not 
dedicated  to  social  rites,  and  the  lady  was  in  the  hands 
of  her  masseuse. 

Selden’s  entrance  had  caused  Lily  an  inward  start  of 
embarrassment;  but  his  air  of  constraint  had  the  effect 
of  restoring  her  self-possession,  and  she  took  at  once  the 

[ iVt  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


tone  of  surprise  and  pleasure,  wondering  frankly  that  he 
should  have  traced  her  to  so  unlikely  a place,  and  asking 
what  had  inspired  him  to  make  the  search. 

Selden  met  this  with  an  unusual  seriousness:  she  had 
never  seen  him  so  little  master  of  the  situation,  so  plainly 
at  the  mercy  of  any  obstructions  she  might  put  in  his 
way.  “I  wanted  to  see  you,”  he  said;  and  she  could  not 
resist  observing  in  reply  that  he  had  kept  his  wishes 
under  remarkable  control.  She  had  in  truth  felt  his  long 
absence  as  one  of  the  chief  bitternesses  of  the  last 
months:  his  desertion  had  wounded  sensibilities  far  be- 
low the  surface  of  her  pride. 

Selden  met  the  challenge  with  directness.  “'Why  should 
I have  come,  unless  I thought  I could  be  of  use  to  you? 
It  is  my  only  excuse  for  imagining  you  could  want  me.” 

This  struck  her  as  a clumsy  evasion,  and  the  thought 
gave  a flash  of  keenness  to  her  answer.  “Then  you  have 
come  now  because  you  think  you  can  be  of  use  to  me?” 

He  hesitated  again.  “Yes:  in  the  modest  capacity  of 
a person  to  talk  things  over  with.” 

For  a clever  man  it  was  certainly  a stupid  beginning; 
and  the  idea  that  his  awkwardness  was  due  to  the  fear 
of  her  attaching  a personal  significance  to  his  visit, 
chilled  her  pleasure  in  seeing  him.  Even  under  the  most 
adverse  conditions,  that  pleasure  always  made  itself  felt : 
she  might  hate  him,  but  she  had  never  been  able  to  wish 
him  out  of  the  room.  She  was  very  near  hating  him  now; 
[ 448  J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


yet  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the  way  the  light  fell  on  his 
thin  dark  hair,  the  way  he  sat  and  moved  and  wore  his 
clothes — she  was  conscious  that  even  these  trivial  things 
were  inwoven  with  her  deepest  life.  In  his  presence  a 
sudden  stillness  came  upon  her,  and  the  turmoil  of  her 
spirit  ceased;  but  an  impulse  of  resistance  to  this  stealing 
influence  now  prompted  her  to  say : “ It ’s  very  good  of 
you  to  present  yourself  in  that  capacity;  but  what  makes 
you  think  I have  anything  particular  to  talk  about 

Though  she  kept  the  even  tone  of  light  intercourse, 
the  questioh  was  framed  in  a way  to  remind  him  that 
his  good  offices  were  unsought;  and  for  a moment  Sel- 
den  was  checked  by  it.  The  situation  between  them  was 
one  which  could  have  been  cleared  up  only  by  a sudden 
explosion  of  feeling;  and  their  whole  training  and  habit 
of  mind  were  against  the  chances  of  such  an  explosion. 
Selden’s  calmness  seemed  rather  to  harden  into  resis- 
tance, and  Miss  Bart’s  into  a surface  of  glittering  irony, 
as  they  faced  each  other  from  the  opposite  corners  of 
one  of  Mrs.  Hatch’s  elephantine /sofas.  The  sofa  in 
question,  and  the  apartment  peopled  by  its  monstrous 
mates,  served  at  length  to  suggest  the  turn  of  Selden’s 
reply. 

“ Gerty  told  me  that  you  were  acting  as  Mrs.  Hatch’s 
secretary;  and  I knew  she  was  anxious  to  hear  how  you 
were  getting  on.” 

Miss  Bart  received  this  explanation  without  percep- 

[ 449  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


tible  softening.  “Why  didn’t  she  look  me  up  herself, 
then.'”’  she  asked. 

“Because,  as  you  didn’t  send  her  your  address,  she 
was  afraid  of  being  importunate.”  Selden  continued 
with  a smile:  “You  see  no  such  scruples  restrained  me; 
but  then  I have  n’t  as  much  to  risk  if  I incur  yoinr  dis- 
pleasure.” 

Lily  answered  his  smile.  “You  haven’t  incurred  it  as 
yet ; but  I have  an  idea  that  you  are  going  to.” 

“That  rests  with  you,  doesn’t  it.^  You  see  my  initia- 
tive doesn’t  go  beyond  putting  myself  at  your  dis- 
posal.” 

“But  in  what  capacity.?  AVhat  am  I to  do  with 
you.?”  she  asked  in  the  same  light  tone. 

Selden  again  glanced  about  Mrs.  Hatch’s  dra\ving- 
room;  then  he  said,  with  a decision  which  he  seemed  to 
have  gathered  from  this  final  inspection:  “You  are  to 
let  me  take  you  away  from  here.” 

Lily  flushed  at  the  suddenness  of  the  attack ; then  she, 
stiffened  under  it  and  said  coldly:  “And  may  I ask 
where  you  mean  me  to  go.?” 

“Back  to  Gerty  in  the  first  place,  if  you  will;  the 
essential  thing  is  that  it  should  be  away  from  here.” 

The  unusual  harshness  of  his  tone  might  have  shown 
her  how  much  the  words  cost  him ; but  she  was  in  no  state 
to  measure  his  feelings  while  her  own  were  in  a flame  of 
revolt.  To  neglect  her,  perhaps  even  to  avoid  her,  at  a 
[ 450  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


time  when  she  had  most  need  of  her  friends,  and  then 
suddenly  and  unwarrantably  to  break  into  her  life  with 
this  strange  assumption  of  authority,  was  to  rouse  in 
her  every  instinct  of  pride  and  self-defence. 

“I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,”  she  said,  “for  tak- 
ing such  an  interest  in  my  plans;  but  I am  quite  con- 
tented where  I am,  and  have  no  intention  of  leaving.” 

Selden  had  risen,  and  was  standing  before  her  in  an 
attitude  of  uncontrollable  expectancy. 

“That  simply  means  that  you  don’t  know  where  you 
are!”  he  exclaimed. 

Lily  rose  also,  with  a quick  flash  of  anger.  “If  you 
have  come  hei’e  to  say  disagreeable  things  about  Mrs. 
Hatch ” 

“It  is  only  with  your  relation  to  Mrs.  Hatch  that  I 
am  concerned.” 

“My  relation  to  Mrs.  Hatch  is  one  I have  no  reason  to 
be  ashamed  of.  She  has  helped  me  to  earn  a living  when 
my  old  friends  were  quite  resigned  to  seeing  me  starve.” 

“Nonsense!  Starvation  is  not  the  only  alternative. 
You  know  you  can  always  find  a home  with  Gerty  till 
you  are  independent  again.” 

“You  show  such  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  my 
affairs  that  I suppose  you  mean — till  my  aunt’s  legacy 
is  paid.?” 

“I  do  mean  that;  Gerty  told  me  of  it,”  Selden  ac- 
knowledged without  embarrassment.  He  was  too  much 

[ 451  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

in  earnest  now  to  feel  any  false  constraint  in  speaking 
his  mind. 

“But  Gerty  does  not  happen  to  know,”  Miss  Bart 
rejoined,  “that  I owe  every  penny  of  that  legacy.” 

“Good  God!”  Selden  exclaimed,  startled  out  of  his 
composure  by  the  abruptness  of  the  statement. 

“Every  penny  of  it,  and  more  too,”  Lily  repeated; 
“and  you  now  perhaps  see  why  I prefer  to  remain  with 
Mrs.  Hatch  rather  than  take  advantage  of  Gerty’s  kind- 
ness. I have  no  money  left,  except  my  small  income, 
and  I must  earn  something  more  to  keep  myself  alive.” 

Selden  hesitated  a moment;  then  he  rejoined  in  a 
quieter  tone:  “But  with  your  income  and  Gerty’s — ■ 
since  you  allow  me  to  go  so  far  into  the  details  of  the 
situation — you  and  she  could  surely  contrive  a life  to- 
gether which  would  put  you  beyond  the  need  of  having 
to  support  yourself.  Gerty,  I know,  is  eager  to  make 
such  an  arrangement,  and  would  be  quite  happy  in 
it ” 

“But  I should  not,”  Miss  Bart  interposed.  “There 
are  many  reasons  why  it  would  be  neither  kind  to 
Gerty  nor  wise  for  myself.”  She  paused  a moment,  and 
as  he  seemed  to  await  a farther  explanation,  added  with 
a quick  lift  of  her  head:  “You  will  perhaps  excuse  me 
from  giving  you  these  reasons.” 

“I  have  no  claim  to  know  them,”  Selden  answered,  ig- 
noring her  tone ; “no  claim  to  offer  any  comment  or  sug- 
[ 452  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


gestion  beyond  the  one  I have  already  made.  And  my 
right  to  make  that  is  simply  the  universal  right  of  a man 
to  enlighten  a woman  when  he  sees  her  unconsciously 
placed  in  a false  position.” 

Lily  smiled.  “I  suppose,”  she  rejoined,  “that  by  a false 
position  you  mean  one  outside  of  what  we  call  society;  but 
you  must  remember  that  I had  been  excluded  from  those 
sacred  precincts  long  before  I met  Mrs.  Hatch.  As  far  as 
I can  see,  there  is  very  little  real  difference  in  being  in- 
side or  out,  and  I remember  your  once  telling  me  that 
it  was  only  those  inside  who  took  the  difference  seri- 
ously.” 

She  had  not  been  without  intention  in  making  this  al- 
lusion to  their  memorable  talk  at  Bellomont,  and  she 
waited  with  an  odd  tremor  of  the  nerves  to  see  what  rei 
sponse  it  would  bring;  but  the  result  of  the  experimeni 
was  disappointing.  Selden  did  not  allow  the  allusion  t« 
deflect  him  from  his  point;  he  merely  said  with  completer 
fulness  of  emphasis:  “The  question  of  being  inside  or 
out  is,  as  you  say,  a small  one,  and  it  happens  to  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  case,  except  in  so  far  as  Mrs. 
Hatch’s  desire  to  be  inside  may  put  you  in  the  position 
I call  false.” 

In  spite  of  the  moderation  of  his  tone,  each  word  he 
spoke  had  the  effect  of  confirming  Lily’s  resistance.  The 
very  apprehensions  he  aroused  hardened  her  against  him  5 
she  had  been  on  the  alert  for  the  note  of  personal  sym.. 
[ 453  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


pathy,  for  any  sign  of  recovered  power  over  him ; and  his  | 
attitude  of  sober  impartiality,  the  absence  of  all  response  | 

to  her  appeal,  turned  her  hurt  pride  to  blind  resentment 
of  his  interference.  The  conviction  that  he  had  been  sent 
by  Gerty,  and  that,  whatever  straits  he  conceived  her  to 
be  in,  he  would  never  voluntarily  have  come  to  her  aid, 
strengthened  her  resolve  not  to  admit  him  a hair’s  breadth 
farther  into  her  confidence.  However  doubtful  she  might 
feel  her  situation  to  be,  she  would  rather  persist  in  dark-  j 
ness  than  owe  her  enlightenment  to  Selden.  I 

“I  don’t  know,”  she  said,  when  he  had  ceased  to  speak,  i 
“why  you  imagine  me  to  be  situated  as  you  describe; 
but  as  you  have  always  told  me  that  the  sole  object  of  a 
bringing-up  like  mine  was  to  teach  a girl  to  get  what 
she  wants,  why  not  assume  that  that  is  precisely  what  I 
am  doing 

The  smile  with  which  she  summed  up  her  case  was 
like  a clear  barrier  raised  against  farther  confidences : its 
brightness  held  him  at  such  a distance  that  he  had  a 
sense  of  being  almost  out  of  hearing  as  he  rejoined:  “I 
am  not  sure  that  I have  ever  called  you  a successful  ex- 
ample of  that  kind  of  bringing-up.” 

Her  colour  rose  a little  at  the  implication,  but  she 
steeled  herself  with  a light  laugh. 

“Ah,  wait  a little  longer — give  me  a little  more  time 
before  you  decide ! ” And  as  he  wavered  before  her,  still 
watching  for  a break  in  the  impenetrable  front  she  pre- 
[ 454  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


sen  ted:  “Don’t  give  me  up;  I may  still  do  credit  to  mj 
training!”  she  affirmed. 


X 


Look  at  those  spangles,  Miss  Bart — every  one  of ’em 
j sewed  on  crooked.” 

The  tall  forewoman,  a pinched  perpendicular  figure, 
dropped  the  condemned  structure  of  wire  and  net  on  the 
table  at  Lily’s  side,  and  passed  on  to  the  next  figure  in 
the  line. 

There  were  twenty  of  them  in  the  work-room,  their 
fagged  profiles,  under  exaggerated  hair,  bowed  in  the 
harsh  north  light  above  the  utensils  of  their  art;  for  it 
was  something  more  than  an  industry,  surely,  this  cre- 
ation of  ever-varied  settings  for  the  face  of  fortunate 
womanhood.  Their  own  faces  were  sallow  with  the  un- 
wholesomeness of  hot  air  and  sedentary  toil,  rather  than 
with  any  actual  signs  of  want:  they  were  employed  in  a 
fashionable  millinery  establishment,  and  were  fairly  well 
clothed  and  well  paid;  but  the  youngest  among  them 
was  as  dull  and  colourless  as  the  middle-aged.  In  the 
whole  work-room  there  was  only  one  skin  beneath  which 
the  blood  still  visibly  played ; and  that  now  burned  with 
vexation  as  Miss  Bart,  under  the  lash  of  the  forewoman’s 
comment,  began  to  strip  the  hat-frame  of  its  over-lapping 
spangles. 


[ 455  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


To  Gerty  Parish’s  hopeful  spirit  a solution  appeared 
to  have  been  reached  when  she  remembered  how  beauti- 
fully Lily  could  trim  hats.  Instances  of  young  lady-milli- 
ners establishing  themselves  under  fashionable  patronage, 
and  imparting  to  their  “creations”  that  indefinable 
touch  which  the  professional  hand  can  never  give,  had 
flattered  Gerty’s  visions  of  the  future,  and  convinced 
even  Lily  that  her  separation  from  Mrs.  Norma  Hatch 
need  not  reduce  her  to  dependence  on  her  fiiends. 

The  parting  had  occurred  a few  w’eeks  after  Selden’s 
visit,  and  would  have  taken  place  sooner  had  it  not  been 
for  the  resistance  set  up  in  Lily  by  his  ill-starred  offer 
of  advice.  The  sense  of  being  involved  in  a transaction 
she  would  not  have  cared  to  examine  too  closely  had 
soon  afterward  defined  itself  in  the  light  of  a hint  from 
Mr.  Stancy  that,  if  she  “saw  them  through,”  she  would 
have  no  reason  to  be  sorry.  The  implication  that  such 
loyalty  would  meet  with  a direct  reward  had  hastened 
her  flight,  and  flung  her  back,  ashamed  and  penitent,  on 
the  broad  bosom  of  Gerty’s  sympathy.  She  did  not,  how- 
ever, propose  to  lie  there  prone,  and  Gerty’s  inspiration 
about  the  hats  at  once  revived  her  hopes  of  profitable 
activity.  Here  was,  after  aU,  something  that  her  charm- 
ing listless  hands  could  reaUy  do;  she  had  no  doubt  of 
their  capacity  for  knotting  a ribbon  or  placing  a flower 
to  advantage.  And  of  coui'se  only  these  finishing  touches 
would  be  expected  of  her;  subordinate  fingers,  blunt, 
r 456  1 


‘‘Look  at  those  spangles,  Miss  Bart, — every  one  of  ’em  sewed  on  crooked. 


i 

f 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


grey,  needle-pricked  fingers,  would  prepare  the  shapes 
and  stitch  the  linings,  while  she  presided  over  the  charm- 
ing little  front  shop — a shop  all  white  panels,  mirrors, 
and  moss-green  hangings — where  her  finished  creations, 
hats,  wreaths,  aigrettes  and  the  rest,  perched  on  their 
stands  like  birds  just  poising  for  flight. 

But  at  the  very  outset  of  Gerty’s  campaign  this  vision 
of  the  green-and-white  shop  had  been  dispelled.  Other 
young  ladies  of  fashion  had  been  thus  “set-up,”  selling 
their  hats  by  the  mere  attraction  of  a name  and  the  re- 
puted knack  of  tying  a bow;  but  these  privileged  beings 
could  command  a faith  in  their  powers  materially  ex- 
pressed by  the  readiness  to  pay  their  shop-rent  and  ad- 
vance a handsome  sum  for  current  expenses.  Where  was 
Lily  to  find  such  support.?  And  even  could  it  have  been 
found,  how  were  the  ladies  on  whose  approval  she  dfe- 
pended  to  be  induced  to  give  her  their  patronage.?  Gerty 
learned  that  whatever  sympathy  her  friend’s  case  might 
have  excited  a few  months  since  had  been  imperilled,  if 
not  lost,  by  her  association  with  Mrs.  Hatch.  Once  again^', 
Lily  hac  withdrawn  from  an  ambiguous  situation  in 
time  to  . fe  her  self-respect,  but  too  late  for  public  vin- 
dication. Freddy  Van  Osburgh  was  not  to  marry  Mrs. 
Hatch:  he  had  been  rescued  at  the  eleventh  hour — 
some  said  by  the  efforts  of  Gus  Trenor  and  Rosedale — 
and  despatched  to  Europe  with  old  Ned  Van  Alstyne; 
but  the  risk  he  had  run  would  always  be  ascribed  to 
[ 457  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Miss  Bart’s  connivance,  and  would  somehow  serve  as  a 
summing-up  and  corroboration  of  the  vague  general  dis- 
trust of  her.  It  was  a relief  to  those  who  had  hungr  back 
from  her  to  find  themselves  thus  justified,  and  they  were 
inclined  to  insist  a little  on  her  connection  with  the 
Hatch  case  in  order  to  show  that  they  had  been  right. 

Gerty’s  quest,  at  any  rate,  brought  up  against  a solid 
wall  of  resistance;  and  even  when  Carry  Fisher,  momen- 
tarily penitent  for  her  share  in  the  Hatch  affair,  joined 
her  efforts  to  Miss  Farish’s,  they  met  with  no  better 
success.  Gerty  had  tried  to  veil  her  failure  in  tender 
ambiguities;  but  Cany,  always  the  soul  of  candour,  put 
the  case  squarely  to  her  friend. 

“I  went  straight  to  Judy  Trenor;  she  has  fewer  pre- 
judices than  the  others,  and  besides  she’s  always  hated 
Bfertha  Dorset.  But  what  have  you  done  to  her,  Lily? 
At  the  very  first  word  about  giving  you  a start  she 
flamed  out  about  some  money  you’d  got  from  Gus;  I 
never  knew  her  so  hot  before.  You  know  she’ll  let  him 
do  anything  but  spend  money  on  his  friends;  the  only 
reason  she’s  decent  to  me  now  is  that  she  knows  I’m 
not  hard  up.  — He  speculated  for  you,  you  say?  Well, 
what ’s  the  harm  ? He  had  no  business  to  lose.  He  did  rit 
lose?  Then  what  on  earth — but  I never  could  under- 
stand you,  Lily!” 

The  end  of  it  was  that,  after  anxious  enquiry  and 
much  deliberation,  iMrs.  Fisher  and  Gerty,  for  once 
[ 458  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


oddly  united  in  their  effort  to  help  their  friend,  de<= 
cided  on  placing  her  in  the  work-room  of  Mme.  Regina’s 
renowned  millinery  establishment.  Even  this  arrange- 
ment was  not  effected  without  considerable  negotiation, 
for  Mme.  Regina  had  a strong  prejudice  against  un- 
trained assistance,  and  was  induced  to  yield  only  by 
the  fact  that  she  owed  the  patronage  of  Mrs.  Bry  and 
Mrs.  Gormer  to  CaiTy  Fisher’s  influence.  She  had  been 
willing  from  the  first  to  employ  Lily  in  the  show-room  i 
as  a displayer  of  hats,  a fashionable  beauty  might  be 
a valuable  asset.  But  to  this  suggestion  Miss  Bart  op- 
posed a negative  which  Gerty  emphatically  supported, 
while  Mrs.  Fisher,  inwardly  unconvinced,  but  resigned 
to  this  latest  proof  of  Lily’s  unreason,  agreed  that  per- 
haps in  the  end  it  would  be  more  useful  that  she  should 
learn  the  trade.  To  Regina’s  work-room  Lily  was  there- 
fore committed  by  her  friends,  and  there  Mrs.  Fisher 
left  her  with  a sigh  of  relief,  while  Gerty’s  watchful- 
ness continued  to  hover  over  her  at  a distance. 

Lily  had  taken  up  her  work  early  in  January;  it  was 
now  two  months  later,  and  she  was  stiU  being  rebuked 
for  her  inability  to  sew  spangles  on  a hat-fi’ame.  As  she 
returned  to  her  work  she  heard  a titter  pass  down  the 
tables.  She  knew  she  was  an  object  of  criticism  and 
amusement  to  the  other  work-women.  They  were,  of 
course,  aware  of  her  history — the  exact  situation  of  every 
girl  in  the  room  was  known  and  freely  discussed  by  all 
[ 459  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  others — but  the  knowledge  did  not  produce  in 
them  any  awkward  sense  of  class  distinction:  it  merely 
explained  why  her  untutored  fingers  were  stiU  blunder- 
ing over  the  mdiments  of  the  trade.  Lily  had  no  de- 
sire that  they  should  recognize  any  social  difference  in 
her;  but  she  had  hoped  to  be  received  as  their  equal, 
and  perhaps  before  long  to  show  herself  their  superior 
by  a special  deftness  of  touch,  and  it  was  humiliating  to 
find  that,  after  two  months  of  drudgery,  she  still  be- 
trayed her  lack  of  early  training.  Remote  w'as  the  day 
when  she  might  aspbe  to  exercise  the  talents  she  felt 
confident  of  possessing;  only  experienced  workers  were 
entrusted  with  the  delicate  art  of  shaping  and  trimming 
the  hat,  and  the  forewoman  still  held  her  inexorably  to 
the  routine  of  preparatory  work. 

She  began  to  idp  the  spangles  from  the  frame,  listen- 
ing absently  to  the  buzz  of  talk  which  rose  and  fell  with 
the  coming  and  going  of  JMiss  Haines’s  active  figiu’e. 
The  air  was  closer  than  usual,  because  iMiss  Haines, 
who  had  a cold,  had  not  allowed  a window  to  be  opened 
even  during  the  noon  recess;  and  Lily’s  head  was  so 
heavy  with  the  weight  of  a sleepless  night  that  the 
chatter  of  her  companions  had  the  incoherence  of  a 
dream. 

“I  told  her  he’d  never  look  at  her  again;  and  he 
didn’t.  I wouldn’t  have,  either — I think  she  acted  real 
mean  to  him.  He  took  her  to  the  Arion  Ball,  and  had  a 
[ 460  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


hack  for  her  both  ways.  . . . She’s  taken  ten  bottles, 
and  her  headaches  don’t  seem  no  better — but  she’s 
written  a testimonial  to  say  the  first  bottle  cured  her, 
and  she  got  five  dollars  and  her  picture  in  the  paper. 
. . . Mrs.  Trenor’s  hat?  The  one  with  the  green  Para- 
dise? Here,  Miss  Haines — it’ll  be  ready  right  off.  . . . 
That  was  one  of  the  Trenor  girls  here  yesterday  with 
Mrs.  George  Doi’set.  How’d  I know?  Why,  Madam 
sent  for  me  to  alter  the  flower  in  that  Virot  hat — the 
blue  tulle:  she’s  tall  and  slight,  with  her  hair  fuzzed 
out — a good  deal  like  Mamie  Leach,  on’y  thinner.  . . .” 

On  and  on  it  flowed,  a current  of  meaningless  sound, 
on  which,  startlingly  enough,  a familiar  name  now  and 
then  floated  to  the  surface.  It  was  the  strangest  part  of 
Lily’s  strange  experience,  the  hearing  of  these  names, 
the  seeing  the  fragmentary  and  distorted  image  of  the 
world  she  had  lived  in  reflected  in  the  mirror  of  the 
working-girls’  minds.  She  had  never  before  suspected 
the  mixture  of  insatiable  curiosity  and  contemptuous 
freedom  with  which  she  and  her  kind  were  discussed  in 
this  underworld  of  toilers  who  lived  on  their  vanity 
and  self-indulgence.  Every  girl  in  Mme.  Regina’s  work- 
room knew  to  whom  the  headgear  in  her  hands  was 
destined,  and  had  her  opinion  of  its  future  wearer,  and 
a definite  knowledge  of  the  latter’s  place  in  the  social 
system.  That  Lily  was  a star  fallen  from  that  sky  did 
not,  after  the  first  stir  of  curiosity  had  subsided,  ma- 

[ 461  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


terially  add  to  their  interest  in  her.  She  had  fallen,  shp 
had  “gone  under,”  and  true  to  the  ideal  of  their  race, 
they  were  awed  only  by  success — by  the  gross  tangible 
image  of  material  achievement.  The  consciousness  of  her 
different  point  of  view  merely  kept  them  at  a little  dis- 
tance from  her,  as  though  she  were  a foreigner  with  whom 
it  was  an  effort  to  talk. 

“Miss  Bart,  if  you  can’t  sew  those  spangles  on  more 
regular  I guess  you ’d  better  give  the  hat  to  Miss  Kilroy.” 

Lily  looked  dowm  ruefully  at  her  handiwork.  The  fore- 
woman was  right:  the  sewing  on  of  the  spangles  weis  in- 
excusably bad.  What  made  her  so  much  more  clumsy 
than  usual  Was  it  a growing  distaste  for  her  task,  or 
actual  physical  disability.?  She  felt  tired  and  confused: 
it  was  an  effort  to  put  her  thoughts  together.  She  rose 
and  handed  the  hat  to  Miss  Kilroy,  who  took  it  with  a 
suppressed  smile. 

“I’m  sorry;  I’m  afraid  I am  not  well,”  she  said  to  the 
forewoman. 

Miss  Haines  offered  no  comment.  From  the  first  she 
had  augured  iU  of  Mme.  Regina’s  consenting  to  include  a 
fashionable  apprentice  among  her  workers.  In  that  tem- 
ple of  art  no  raw  beginners  were  wanted,  and  Miss  Haines 
would  have  been  more  than  human  had  she  not  taken  a 
certain  pleasure  in  seeing  her  forebodings  confirmed. 

“You’d  better  go  back  to  binding  edges,”  she  said 
drily. 


[ m ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lily  slipped  out  last  among  the  band  of  liberated  work- 
women. She  did  not  care  to  be  mingled  in  their  noisy 
dispersal:  once  in  the  street,  she  always  felt  an  irresist- 
ible return  to  her  old  standpoint,  an  instinctive  shi’ink- 
ing  from  all  that  was  unpolished  and  promiscuous.  In 
the  days — how  distant  they  now  seemed! — when  she 
had  visited  the  Girls’  Club  with  Gerty  Farish,  she  had 
felt  an  enlightened  interest  in  the  working-classes;  but 
that  was  because  she  looked  down  on  them  from  above, 
from  the  happy  altitude  of  her  grace  and  her  beneficence. 
Now  that  she  was  on  a level  with  them,  the  point  of 
view  was  less  interesting. 

She  felt  a touch  on  her  arm,  and  met  the  penitent 
eye  of  Miss  Kilroy. 

“Miss  Bart,  I guess  you  can  sew  those  spangles  on 
as  well  as  I can  when  you  ’re  feeling  right.  Miss  Haines 
did  n’t  act  fair  to  you.” 

Lily’s  colour  rose  at  the  unexpected  advance:  it  was 
a long  time  since  real  kindness  had  looked  at  her  from 
any  eyes  but  Gerty’s. 

“Oh,  thank  you:  I’m  not  particularly  well,  but  Miss 
Haines  was  right.  I am  clumsy.” 

“Well,  it’s  mean  work  for  anybody  with  a headache.” 
Miss  Kilroy  paused  irresolutely.  “You  ought  to  go  right 
home  and  lay  down.  Ever  try  orangeine.?” 

“Thank  you.”  Lily  held  out  her  hand.  “It’s  very  kind 
of  you — I mean  to  go  home.” 

[ 463  ] 


THE  HOUS];:  OF  MIRTH 


She  looked  gratefully  at  Miss  Kilroy,  but  neither  knew 
what  more  to  say.  Lily  was  aware  that  the  other  was  on 
the  point  of  offering  to  go  home  with  her,  but  she  wanted 
to  be  alone  and  silent — even  kindness,  the  sort  of  kind- 
ness that  Miss  Kilroy  could  give,  would  have  jarred  on 
her  just  then. 

“Thank  you,”  she  repeated  as  she  turned  away. 

She  struck  westward  through  the  dreary  March  twi- 
light, toward  the  street  wKere  her  boarding-house  , stood. 
She  had  resolutely  refused  Gerty’s  offer  of  hospitality. 
Something  of  her  mother’s  fierce  shrinking  from  obser- 
vation and  sympathy  was  beginning  to  develop  in  her, 
and  the  promiscuity  of  small  quarters  and  close  intimacy 
seemed,  on  the  whole,  less  endurable  than  the  solitude 
of  a hall  bedroom  in  a house  where  she  could  come  and 
go  unremarked  among  other  w'orkers.  For  a while  she 
had  been  sustained  by  this  desire  for  privacy  and  in- 
dependence; but  now,  perhaps  from  increasing  physical 
weariness,  the  lassitude  brought  about  by  hours  of  un- 
wonted confinement,  she  was  beginning  to  feel  acutely 
the  ugliness  and  discomfort  of  her  surroundings.  The 
day’s  task  done,  she  di-eaded  to  return  to  her  narrow 
room,  with  its  blotched  wall-paper  and  shabby  paint; 
and  she  hated  every  step  of  the  walk  thither,  through 
the  degradation  of  a New  York  street  in  the  last  stages 
of  decline  from  fashion  to  commerce. 

But  what  she  dreaded  most  of  all  was  having  to  pass 

[ 464  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

the  chemist’s  at  the  corner  of  Sixth  Avenue.  She  had 
meant  to  take  another  street;  she  had  usually  done  so 
of  late.  But  today  her  steps  were  irresistibly  drawn  to- 
ward the  flaring  plate-glass  corner;  she  tried  to  take  the 
lower  crossing,  but  a laden  dray  crowded  her  back,  and 
she  struck  across  the  street  obliquely,  reaching  the  side- 
walk just  opposite  the  chemist’s  door. 

Over  the  counter  she  caught  the  eye  of  the  clerk  who 
had  waited  on  her  before,  and  slipped  the  prescription 
into  his  hand.  There  could  be  no  question  about  the  pre- 
scription: it  was  a copy  of  one  of  Mrs.  Hatch’s,  obli- 
gingly furnished  by  that  lady’s  chemist.  Lily  was  confi- 
dent that  the  clerk  would  fill  it  without  hesitation;  yet 
the  nervous  dread  of  a refusal,  or  even  of  an  expression 
of  doubt,  communicated  itself  to  her  restless  hands  as 
she  affected  to  examine  the  bottles  of  perfume  stacked 
on  the  glass  case  before  her. 

The  clerk  had  read  the  prescription  without  comment; 
but  in  the  act  of  handing  out  the  bottle  he  paused. 

“You  don’t  want  to  increase  the  dose,  you  know,”  he 
remarked. 

Lily’s  heart  contracted.  What  did  he  mean  by  looking 
at  her  in  that  way.? 

“ Of  course  not,”  she  murmured,  holding  out  her  hand. 

“That’s  all  right:  it ’s  a queer-acting  drug.  A drop  or 
two  more,  and  off  you  go — the  doctors  don’t  know  why.” 

The  dread  lest  he  should  question  her,  or  keep  the 

[ 465  J 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


bottle  back,  choked  the  murmur  of  acquiescence  in  her 
throat;  and  when  at  length  she  emerged  safely  from  the 
shop  she  was  almost  dizzy  with  the  intensity  of  her  re- 
lief. The  mere  touch  of  the  packet  thrilled  her  tired 
nerves  with  the  delicious  promise  of  a night  of  sleep,  and 
in  the  reaction  from  her  momentary  fear  she  felt  as  if 
the  first  fiimes  of  drowsiness  were  ah’eady  stealing  over 
her. 

In  her  confusion  she  stumbled  against  a man  who  was 
hurrying  down  the  last  steps  of  the  elevated  station.  He 
drew  back,  and' she  heard  her  name  uttered  with  sur- 
prise. It  was  Rosedale,  fur-coated,  glossy  and  prosperous 
— but  why  did  she  seem  to  see  him  so  far  off,  and  as  if 
through  a mist  of  splintered  crystals Before  she  could 
account  for  the  phenomenon  she  found  herself  shaking 
hands  with  him.  They  had  parted  with  scorn  on  her  side 
and  anger  upon  his;  but  all  trace  of  these  emotions 
seemed  to  vanish  as  their  hands  met,  and  she  was  only 
aware  of  a confused  wish  that  she  might  continue  to  hold 
fast  to  him. 

“Why,  what’s  the  matter.  Miss  Lily.'’  You’re  not 
well!”  he  exclaimed ; and  she  forced  her  lips  into  a pallid 
smile  of  reassurance. 

“I’m  a httle  tired — it’s  nothing.  Stay  with  me  a mo- 
ment, please,”  she  faltered.  That  she  should  be  asking 
this  service  of  Rosedale! 

He  glanced  at  the  dirty  and  unpropitious  corner  on 

[ 466  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


which  they  stood,  with  the  shriek  of  the  “elevated”  and 
the  tumult  of  trams  and  waggons  contending  hideously 
in  their  ears. 

“We  can’t  stay  here;  but  let  me  take  you  somewhere 
for  a cup  of  tea.  The  Longworth  is  only  a few  yards  off, 
and  there  ’ll  be  no  one  there  at  this  hour.” 

A cup  of  tea  in  quiet,  somewhere  out  of  the  noise  and 
ugliness,  seemed  for  the  moment  the  one  solace  she  could 
bear.  A few  steps  brought  them  to  the  ladies’  door  of 
the  hotel  he  had  named,  and  a moment  later  he  was 
seated  opposite  to  her,  and  the  waiter  had  placed  the  tea- 
tray  between  them. 

“Not  a drop  of  brandy  or  whiskey  first.?  You  look  re- 
gularly done  up.  Miss  Lily.  Well,  take  your  tea  strong, 
then ; and,  waiter,  get  a cushion  for  the  lady’s  back.” 

Lily  smiled  faintly  at  the  injunction  to  take  her  tea 
strong.  It  was  the  temptation  she  was  always  struggling 
to  resist.  Her  craving  for  the  keen  stimulant  was  forever 
conflicting  with  that  other  craving  for  sleep — the  mid- 
night craving  which  only  the  little  phial  in  her  hand 
could  still.  But  today,  at  any  rate,  the  tea  could  hardly 
be  too  strong:  she  counted  on  it  to  pour  warmth  and 
resolution  into  her  empty  veins. 

As  she  leaned  back  before  him,  her  lids  drooping  in 
utter  lassitude,  though  the  first  warm  draught  already 
tinged  her  face  with  returning  life,  Rosedale  was  seized 
afresh  by  the  poignant  surprise  of  her  beauty.  The  dark 

[ 467  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


pencilling  of  fatigue  under  her  eyes,  the  morbid  blue- 
veined  pallour  of  the  temples,  brought  out  the  bright- 
ness of  her  hair  and  lips,  as  though  all  her  ebbing  vitality 
were  centred  there.  Against  the  dull  chocolate-coloured 
background  of  the  restaurant,  the  purity  of  her  head 
stood  out  as  it  had  never  done  in  the  most  hrightly-lit 
ball-room.  He  looked  at  her  with  a startled  uncomforta- 
ble feeling,  as  though  her  beauty  were  a forgotten  enemy 
that  had  lain  in  ambush  and  now  sprang  out  on  him  un- 
awares. 

To  clear  the  air  he  tried  to  take  an  easy  tone  with  her. 
“Why,  Miss  Lily,  I have  n’t  seen  you  for  an  age.  I did  n’t 
know  what  had  become  of  you.” 

As  he  spoke,  he  was  checked  by  an  embarrassing  sense 
of  the  complications  to  which  this  might  lead.  Though 
he  had  not  seen  her  he  had  heard  of  her;  he  knew  of  her 
connection  with  Mrs.  Hatch,  and  of  the  talk  resulting 
from  it.  Mrs.  Hatch’s  milieu  was  one  which  he  had  once 
assiduously  frequented,  and  now  as  devoutly  shunned. 

Lily,  to  whom  the  tea  had  restored  her  usual  clearness 
of  mind,  saw  what  was  in  his  thoughts  and  said  with  a 
slight  smile:  “You  would  not  be  likely  to  know  about 
me.  I have  joined  the  wnrking  classes.” 

He  stared  in  genuine  wonder.  “You  don’t  mean ? 

Why,  what  on  earth  are  you  doing 

“ Learning  to  be  a milliner — at  least  trying  to  learn,” 
she  hastily  qualified  the  statement. 

[ 468  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Rosedale  suppressed  a low  whistle  of  surprise.  “Come 
off — you  ain’t  serious,  are  you.?” 

“Perfectly  serious.  I’m  obliged  to  work  for  my  liv- 
ing.” 

“But  I understood — I thought  you  were  with  Norma 
Hatch.” 

“You  heard  I had  gone  to  her  as  her  secretary.?” 

“Something  of  the  kind,  I believe.”  He  leaned  for« 
ward  to  refill  her  cup. 

Lily  guessed  the  possibilities  of  embarrassment  which 
the  topic  held  for  him,  and  raising  her  eyes  to  his,  she 
said  suddenly:  “I  left  her  two  months  ago.” 

Rosedale  continued  to  fumble  awkwardly  with  the 
tea-pot,  and  she  felt  sure  that  he  had  heard  what  held 
been  said  of  her.  But  what  was  there  that  Rosedale  did 
not  hear? 

“Was  n’t  it  a soft  berth?”  he  enquired,  with  an  attempt 
at  lightness. 

“Too  soft — one  might  have  sunk  in  too  deep.”  Lily 
rested  one  arm  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  and  sat  look- 
ing at  him  more  intently  than  she  had  ever  looked  be- 
fore. An  uncontrollable  impulse  was  urging  her  to  put 
her  case  to  this  man,  from  whose  curiosity  she  had  al- 
ways so  fiercely  defended  herself. 

“You  know  Mrs.  Hatch,  I think?  Well,  perhaps  you 
can  understand  that  she  might  make  things  too  easy 
for  one.” 


[ 469  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Rosedale  looked  faintly  puzzled,  and  she  remembered 
that  allusiveness  was  lost  on  him. 

“It  was  no  place  for  you,  anyhow,”  he  agreed,  so 
suffused  and  immersed  in  the  light  of  her  full  gaze  that 
he  found  himself  being  drawn  into  strange  depths  of 
intimacy.  He  who  had  had  to  subsist  on  mere  fugitive 
glances,  looks  winged  in  flight  and  swiftly  lost  under 
sovert,  now  found  her  eyes  settling  on  him  with  a 
brooding  intensity  that  fairly  dazzled  him. 

“I  left,”  Lily  continued,  “lest  people  should  say  I 
was  helping  Mrs.  Hatch  to  marry  Freddy  Van  Osburgh 
— who  is  not  in  the  least  too  good  for  her — and  as 
they  still  continue  to  say  it,  I see  that  I might  as  well 
have  stayed  where  I was.” 

‘Oh,  Freddy ” Rosedale  brushed  aside  the  topic 

with  an  air  of  its  unimportance  which  gave  a sense  of 
the  immense  perspective  he  had  acquired.  “Freddy  don’t 
count — but  I knew  you  were  n’t  mixed  up  in  that.  It 
ain’t  your  style.” 

Lily  coloured  slightly:  she  could  not  conceal  from 
herself  that  the  words  gave  her  pleasure.  She  would 
have  liked  to  sit  there,  drinking  more  tea,  and  contin- 
uing to  talk  of  herself  to  Rosedale.  But  the  old  habit 
of  observing  the  conventions  reminded  her  that  it  was 
time  to  bring  their  colloquy  to  an  end,  and  she  made 
a faint  motion  to  push  back  her  chair. 

Rosedale  stopped  her  with  a protesting  gesture.  “Wait 

r 470  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


a minute — ^ don’t  go  yet;  sit  quiet  and  rest  a little 
longer.  You  look  thoroughly  played  out.  And  you 

haven’t  told  me ” He  broke  off,  conscious  of  going 

farther  than  he  had  meant.  She  saw  the  struggle  and  un- 
derstood it;  understood  also  the  nature  of  the  spell  to 
which  he  yielded  as,  with  his  eyes  on  her  face,  he  began 
again  abruptly:  “What  on  earth  did  you  mean  by  say- 
ing just  now  that  you  were  learning  to  be  a milliner.?” 

“Just  what  I said.  I am  an  apprentice  at  Regina’s.” 

“Good  Lord — you?  But  what  for.?  I knew  your  aunt 
had  turned  you  down:  Mrs.  Fisher  told  me  about  it. 
But  I understood  you  got  a legacy  from  her ” 

“I  got  ten  thousand  dollars;  but  the  legacy  is  not  to 
be  paid  till  next  summer.” 

“Well,  but — look  here:  you  could  borrow  on  it  any 
time  you  wanted.” 

She  shook  her  head  gravely.  “No;  for  I owe  it  al- 
ready.” 

“Owe  it.?  The  whole  ten  thousand?” 

“Every  penny.”  She  paused,  and  then  continued  ab- 
ruptly, with  her  eyes  on  his  face:  “I  think  Gus  Trenor 
spoke  to  you  once  about  having  made  some  money  for 
me  in  stocks.” 

She  waited,  and  Rosedale,  congested  with  embarrass- 
ment, muttered  that  he  remembered  something  of  the 
Had. 

He  made  about  nine  thousand  dollars,”  Lily  pursued. 

[ ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


in  the  same  tone  of  eager  communicativeness.  “At  the 
time,  I understood  that  he  was  speculating  with  mv 
own  money:  it  was  incredibly  stupid  of  me,  but  I knew 
nothing  of  business.  Afterward  I found  out  that  he  had 
not  used  my  money — that  what  he  said  he  had  made 
for  me  he  had  ready  given  me.  It  was  meant  in  kind- 
ness, of  course;  but  it  was  not  the  sort  of  obligation 
one  could  remain  under.  Unfortunately  I had  spent  the 
money  before  I discovered  my  mistake;  and  so  my 
legacy  will  have  to  go  to  pay  it  back.  That  is  the  rea- 
son why  I am  trying  to  learn  a trade.” 

She  made  the  statement  clearly,  deliberately,  with 
pauses  between  the  sentences,  so  that  each  should  have 
time  to  sink  deeply  into  her  hearer’s  mind.  She  had  a 
passionate  desire  that  some  one  should  know  the  truth 
about  this  transaction,  and  also  that  the  rumour  of 
her  intention  to  repay  the  money  should  reach  Judy 
Trenor’s  ears.  And  it  had  suddenly  occun’ed  to  her  that 
Rosedale,  who  had  surprised  Trenor’s  confidence,  was 
the  fitting  person  to  receive  and  transmit  her  version  of 
the  facts.  She  had  even  felt  a momentary  exhilaration 
at  the  thought  of  thus  relienng  herself  of  her  detested 
secret;  but  the  sensation  gradually  faded  in  the  telling, 
and  as  she  ended  her  pallour  was  sufiiised  with  a deep 
blush  of  misery. 

Rosedale  continued  to  stare  at  her  in  wonder;  but  the 
wonder  took  the  turn  she  had  least  expected. 

\ 472  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“But  see  here — if  that’s  the  case,  it  cleans  you  out 
altogether?” 

He  put  it  to  her  as  if  she  had  not  grasped  the  conse- 
quences of  her  act;  as  if  her  incorrigible  ignorance  of 
business  were  about  to  precipitate  her  into  a fresh  act 
of  folly. 

“Altogether— yes,”  she  calmly  agreed. 

He  sat  silent,  his  thick  hands  clasped  on  the  table,  his 
little  puzzled  eyes  exploring  the  recesses  of  the  deserted 
restaurant. 

“See  here — that’s  fine,”  he  exclaimed  abruptly. 

Lily  rose  from  her  seat  with  a deprecating  laugh.  “Oh, 
no — it ’s  merely  a bore,”  she  asserted,  gathering  together 
the  ends  of  her  feather  scarf. 

Rosedale  remained  seated,  too  intent  on  his  thoughts 
to  notice  her  movement.  “Miss  Lily,  if  you  want  any 
backing — I like  pluck ” broke  from  him  discon- 

nectedly. 

“Thank  you.”  She  held  out  her  hand.  “Your  tea  has 
given  me  a tremendous  backing.  I feel  equal  to  anything 
now.” 

Her  gesture  seemed  to  show  a definite  intention  of 
dismissal,  but  her  companion  had  tossed  a bill  to  the 
waiter,  and  was  slipping  his  short  arms  into  his  expen- 
sive overcoat. 

“Wait  a minute — you’ve  got  to  let  me  walk  home 
with  you,”  he  said. 


[ 473  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Lily  uttered  no  protest,  and  when  he  had  paused  to 
make  sure  of  his  change  they  emerged  from  the  hotel 
and  crossed  Sixth  Avenue  again.  As  she  led  the  way 
westward  past  a long  line  of  areas  which,  through  the 
distortion  of  their  paintless  rails,  revealed  with  increas- 
ing candour  the  disjecta  membra  of  bygone  dinners,  Lily 
felt  that  Rosedale  was  taking  contemptuous  note  of  the 
neighbourhood;  and  before  the  doorstep  at  which  she 
finally  paused  he  looked  up  with  an  air  of  incredulous 
disgust. 

“This  isn’t  the  place?  Some  one  told  me  you  were 
living  with  Miss  Farish.” 

“No:  I am  boarding  here.  I have  lived  too  long  on 
my  friends.” 

He  continued  to  scan  the  blistered  brown  stone  front, 
the  windows  draped  with  discoloured  lace,  and  the  Pom- 
peian decoration  of  the  muddy  vestibule;  then  he  looked 
back  at  her  face  and  said  with  a visible  effort;  “You’ll 
let  me  come  and  see  you  some  day  P” 

She  smiled,  recognizing  the  heroism  of  the  offer  to  the 
|>  point  of  being  frankly  touched  by  it.  “Thank  you — I 
shall  be  very  glad,”  she  made  answer,  in  the  first  sincere 
words  she  had  ever  spoken  to  him. 

That  evening  in  her  own  room  Miss  Bart — who  had  fled 
early  from  the  heavy  fumes  of  the  basement  dinner-table 
= — sat  musing  upon  the  impulse  which  had  led  her  t^ 

[ 474  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

unbosom  herself  to  Rosedale.  Beneath  it  she  discovered 
an  increasing  sense  of  loneliness — a dread  of  returning 
to  the  solitude  of  her  room,  while  she  could  be  anywhere 
else,  or  in  any  company  but  her  own.  Circumstances,  of 
late,  had  combined  to  cut  her  off  more  and  more  from 
her  few  remaining  friends.  On  Carry  Fisher’s  part  the 
withdi'awal  was  perhaps  not  quite  involuntary.  Having 
made  her  final  effort  on  Lily’s  behalf,  and  landed  her 
safely  in  Mme.  Regina’s  work-room,  Mrs.  Fisher  seemed 
disposed  to  rest  from  her  labours;  and  Lily,  understand- 
ing the  reason,  could  not  condemn  her.  Carry  had  in  fact 
come  dangerously  near  to  being  involved  in  the  episode 
of  Mrs.  Norma  Hatch,  and  it  had  taken  some  verbal  in- 
genuity to  extricate  herself.  She  frankly  owned  to  having 
brought  Lily  and  Mrs.  Hatch  together,  but  then  she  did 
not  know  Mrs.  Hatch — she  had  expressly  warned  Lily 
that  she  did  not  know  Mrs.  Hatch — and  besides,  she 
was  not  Lily’s  keeper,  and  really  the  girl  was  old  enough 
to  take  care  of  herself.  Carry  did  not  put  her  own  case 
so  brutally,  but  she  allowed  it  to  be  thus  put  for  her  by 
her  latest  bosom  friend,  Mrs.  Jack  Stepney;  Mrs.  Step- 
ney, trembling  over  the  narrowness  of  her  only  brother’s 
escape,  but  eager  to  vindicate  Mrs.  Fisher,  at  whose  house 
she  could  counton  the  “jolly  parties”  which  had  become 
a necessity  to  her  since  marriage  had  emancipated  her 
from  the  Van  Osburgh  point  of  view. 

Lily  understood  the  situation  and  could  make  allows 

[ 4T5  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ances  for  it.  Carry  had  been  a good  friend  to  her  in 
difficult  days,  and  perhaps  only  a friendship  like  Gerty’s 
could  be  proof  against  such  an  increasing  strain.  Gerty’s 
friendship  did  indeed  hold  fast;  yet  Lily  was  beginning 
to  avoid  her  also.  For  she  could  not  go  to  Gerty’s  with- 
out risk  of  meeting  Selden;  and  to  meet  him  now  would 
be  pure  pain.  It  was  pain  enough  even  to  think  of  him, 
whether  she  considered  him  in  the  distinctness  of  her 
waking  thoughts,  or  felt  the  obsession  of  his  presence  i 
through  the  blur  of  her  tormented  nights.  That  was  one 
of  the  reasons  why  she  had  turned  again  to  Mrs.  Hatch’s 
prescription.  In  the  uneasy  snatches  of  her  natural  dreams 
he  came  to  her  sometimes  in  the  old  guise  of  fellowship 
and  tenderness;  and  she  would  rise  from  the  sweet  delu- 
sion mocked  and  emptied  of  her  courage.  But  in  the  sleep 
which  the  phial  procured  she  sank  far  below  such  half- 
waking  visitations,  sank  into  depths  of  dreamless  anni- 
hilation from  which  she  woke  each  morning  with  an  ob- 
literated past. 

Gradually,  to  be  sure,  the  stress  of  the  old  thoughts 
would  return;  but  at  least  they  did  not  importune  her 
waking  hour.  The  drug  gave  her  a momentary  illusion 
of  complete  renewal,  from  which  she  drew  strength  to 
take  up  her  daily  work.  The  strength  was  more  and  more 
needed  as  the  perplexities  of  her  future  increased.  She 
knew  that  to  Gerty  and  Mrs.  Fisher  she  was  only  passing 
through  a temporary  period  of  probation,  since  they  be- 

[ 476  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


lieved  that  the  apprenticeship  she  was  serving  at  Mme. 
Regina’s  would  enable  her,  when  Mrs.  Peniston’s  legacy 
was  paid,  to  realize  the  vision  of  the  green-and-white 
shop  with  the  fuller  competence  acquired  by  her  prelimi- 
nary training.  But  to  Lily  herself,  aware  that  the  legacy 
could  not  be  put  to  such  a use,  the  preliminary  training 
seemed  a wasted  effort.  She  understood  clearly  enough 
that,  even  if  she  could  ever  learn  to  compete  with  hands 
formed  from  childhood  for  their  special  work,  the  small 
pay  she  received  would  not  be  a sufficient  addition  to  her 
income  to  compensate  her  for  such  dradgery.  And  the 
realization  of  this  fact  brought  her  recurringly  face  to 
face  with  the  temptation  to  use  the  legacy  in  establish- 
ing her  business.  Once  installed,  and  in  command  of  her 
own  work-women,  she  believed  she  had  sufficient  tact 
and  ability  to  attract  a fashionable  clientele ; and  if  the 
business  succeeded  she  could  gradually  lay  aside  money 
enough  to  discharge  her  debt  to  Trenor.  But  the  task 
might  take  years  to  accomplish,  even  if  she  continued 
to  stint  herself  to  the  utmost;  and  meanwhile  her  pride 
would  be  crushed  under  the  weight  of  an  intolerable 
obligation. 

These  were  her  superficial  considerations;  but  under 
them  lurked  the  secret  dread  that  the  obligation  might 
not  always  remain  intolerable.  She  knew  she  could  not 
count  on  her  continuity  of  pui’pose,  and  what  really  fright- 
ened her  was  the  thought  that  she  might  gradually  ac- 
r 477  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


commodate  herself  to  remaining  indefinitely  in  TrenoFs 
debt,  as  she  had  accommodated  herself  to  the  part  al- 
lotted her  on  the  Sabrina,  and  as  she  had  so  nearly  drifted 
into  acquiescing  with  Stancy’s  scheme  for  the  advance- 
ment of  Ml’S.  Hatch.  Her  danger  lay,  as  she  knew,  in  her 
old  incurable  dread  of  discomfort  and  poverty ; in  the  fear 
of  that  mounting  tide  of  dinginess  against  which  her 
mother  had  so  passionately  warned  her.  And  now  a new 
vista  of  peril  opened  before  her.  She  understood  that 
Rosedale  was  ready  to  lend  her  money ; and  the  longing 
to  take  advantage  of  his  offer  began  to  haunt  her  in- 
sidiously. It  was  of  course  impossible  to  accept  a loan  from 
Rosedale;  but  proximate  possibilities  hovered  temptingly 
before  her.  She  was  quite  sure  that  he  would  come  and 
see  her  again,  and  almost  sure  that,  if  he  did,  she  could 
bring  him  to  the  point  of  offering  to  marry  her  on  the 
terms  she  had  previously  rejected.  Would  she  still  reject 
them  if  they  were  offered?  More  and  more,  with  every 
fresh  mischance  befalling  her,  did  the  pursuing  furies 
seem  to  take  the  shape  of  Bertha  Dorset;  and  close  at 
hand,  safely  locked  among  her  papers,  lay  the  means  of 
ending  their  pursuit.  The  temptation,  which  her  scorn  of 
Rosedale  had  once  enabled  her  to  reject,  now  insistently 
returned  upon  her;  and  how  much  strength  was  left  her 
to  oppose  it? 

What  little  there  was  must  at  any  rate  be  husbanded 
to  the  utmost;  she  could  not  trust  herself  again  to  the 

[ ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


perils  of  a sleepless  night.  Thi'ough  the  long  hours  of 
silence  the  dark  spirit  of  fatigue  and  loneliness  crouched 
upon  her  breast,  leaving  her  so  drained  of  bodily  strength 
that  her  morning  thoughts  swam  in  a haze  of  weakness^ 
The  only  hope  of  renewal  lay  in  the  little  bottle  at  her 
bed-side;  and  how  much  longer  that  hope  would  last  she 
dared  not  conjecture. 


XI 

Lily,  lingering  for  a moment  on  the  corner,  looked 
j out  on  the  afternoon  spectacle  of  Fifth  Avenue. 

It  was  a day  in  late  April,  and  the  sweetness  of 
spring  was  in  the  air.  It  mitigated  the  ugliness  of  the 
long  crowded  thoroughfare,  bluiTed  the  gaunt  roof- 
lines, threw  a mauve  veil  over  the  discouraging  per- 
spective of  the  side  streets,  and  gave  a touch  of  poetry 
to  the  delicate  haze  of  green  that  marked  the  entrance 
to  the  Park. 

As  Lily  stood  there,  she  recognized  several  familiar 
faces  in  the  passing  carriages.  The  season  was  over,  and 
its  ruling  forces  had  disbanded;  but  a few  still  lingered, 
delaying  their  departure  for  Europe,  or  passing  thi-ough 
town  on  their  return  from  the  South.  Among  them  was 
Mrs.  Van  Osburgh,  swaying  majestically  in  her  C-spring 
barouche,  with  Mrs.  Percy  Gryce  at  her  side,  and  the 
new  heir  to  the  Gryce  millions  enthroned  before  them  on 
[ 479  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


his  nurse’s  knees.  They  were  succeeded  by  Mrs.  Hatch’s 
electric  victoria,  in  which  that  lady  reclined  in  the  lonely 
splendour  of  a spring  toilet  obviously  designed  for  com- 
pany; and  a moment  or  two  later  came  Judy  Trenor,  ac- 
companied by  Lady  Skiddaw,  who  had  come  over  for  her 
annual  tarpon  fishing  and  a dip  into  “the  street.” 

This  fleeting  glimpse  of  her  past  served  to  emphasize 
the  sense  of  aimlessness  with  which  Lily  at  length 
turned  toward  home.  She  had  nothing  to  do  for  the 
rest  of  the  day,  nor  for  the  days  to  come;  for  the  sea- 
son wa^  over  in  millinery  as  weU  as  in  society,  and  a 
week  earlier  Mme.  Regina  had  notified  her  that  her 
services  were  no  longer  required.  Mme.  Regina  always 
reduced  her  staff  on  the  first  of  May,  and  IVIiss  Bart’s 
attendance  had  of  late  been  so  irregular — she  had  so 
often  been  unwell,  and  had  done  so  little  work  when 
she  came — that  it  was  only  as  a favour  that  her  dis- 
missal had  hitherto  been  defeiTed. 

Lily  did  not  question  the  justice  of  the  decision.  She 
was  conscious  of  having  been  forgetful,  awkward  and 
slow  to  learn.  It  was  bitter  to  acknowledge  her  inferior- 
ity even  to  herself,  but  the  fact  had  been  brought  home 
to  her  that  as  a bread-winner  she  could  never  compete 
with  professional  ability.  Since  she  had  been  brought 
up  to  be  ornamental,  she  could  hardly  blame  herself  for 
failing  to  serve  any  practical  purpose;  but  the  discovery 
put  an  end  to  her  consoling  sense  of  universal  efficiency. 

I.  ■‘80  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


As  she  turned  homeward  her  thoughts  shrank  in  an- 
ticipation from  the  fact  that  there  would  be  nothing  to 
get  up  for  the  next  morning.  The  luxury  of  lying  late 
in  bed  was  a pleasure  belonging  to  the  life  of  ease;  it 
had  no  part  in  the  utilitarian  existence  of  the  boarding- 
house. She  liked  to  leave  her  room  early,  and  to  return 
to  it  as  late  as  possible;  and  she  was  walking  slowly  now 
in  order  to  postpone  the  detested  approach  to  her  door- 
step. 

But  the  doorstep,  as  she  drew  near  it,  acquired  a 
sudden  interest  from  the  fact  that  it  was  occupied  — 
and  indeed  filled — by  the  conspicuous  figure  of  Mr. 
Rosedale,  whose  presence  seemed  to  take  on  an  added 
amplitude  from  the  meanness  of  his  surroundings. 

The  sight  stirred  Lily  with  an  irresistible  sense  of 
triumph.  Rosedale,  a day  or  two  after  their  chance 
meeting,  had  called  to  enquire  if  she  had  recovered 
from  her  indisposition;  but  since  then  she  had  not  seen 
or  heard  from  him,  and  his  absence  seemed  to  betoken 
a struggle  to  keep  away,  to  let  her  pass  once  more  out 
of  his  life.  If  this  were  the  case,  his  return  showed  that 
the  struggle  had  been  unsuccessful,  for  Lily  knew  he 
was  not  the  man  to  waste  his  time  in  an  ineffectual  sen- 
timental dalliance.  He  was  too  busy,  too  practical,  and 
above  all  too  much  preoccupied  with  his  own  advance- 
ment, to  indulge  in  such  unprofitable  asides. 

In  the  peacock-blue  parlour,  with  its  bunches  of  dried 

[ 481  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


pampas  grass,  and  discoloured  steel  engravings  of  senti^ 
mental  episodes,  he  looked  about  him  with  unconcealed 
disgust,  laying  his  hat  distrustfully  on  the  dusty  console 
adorned  with  a Rogers  statuette. 

Lily  sat  down  on  one  of  the  plush  and  rosewood 
sofas,  and  he  deposited  himself  in  a rocking-chair  draped 
with  a starched  antimacassar  which  scraped  unpleasantly 
against  the  pink  fold  of  skin  above  his  collar. 

“My  goodness — you  can’t  go  on  living  here !”  he  ex- 
claimed. 

Lily  smiled  at  his  tone.  “I  am  not  sure  that  I can; 
but  I have  gone  over  my  expenses  veiy^  carefully,  and  I 
rather  think  I shall  be  able  to  manage  it.” 

“Be  able  to  manage  it.^  That’s  not  what  I mean  — 
it’s  no  place  for  you!” 

“It’s  what  I mean;  for  I have  been  out  of  work  for 
the  last  week.” 

“Out  of  work — out  of  work!  What  a way  for  you  to 
talk ! The  idea  of  your  having  to  work — it’s  preposter- 
ous.” He  brought  out  his  sentences  in  short  violent  jerks, 
as  though  they  were  forced  up  from  a deep  inner  crater 
of  indignation.  “It ’s  a farce — a crazy  farce,”  he  repeated, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  long  vista  of  the  room  reflected  in 
the  blotched  glass  betw'een  the  windows. 

Lily  continued  to  meet  his  expostulations  with  a smile. 
“I  don’t  know  why  I should  regard  myself  as  an  excep- 
tion  ” she  began. 


[ 482  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Because  you  are;  that’s  why;  and  your  being  in  a 
place  like  this  is  a damnable  outrage.  I can’t  talk  of  it 
calmly.” 

She  had  in  truth  never  seen  him  so  shaken  out  of  his 
usual  glibness;  and  there  was  something  almost  moving 
to  her  in  his  inarticulate  struggle  with  his  emotions. 

He  rose  with  a start  which  left  the  rocking-chair 
quivering  on  its  beam  ends,  and  placed  himself  squarely 
before  her. 

“Look  here,  Miss  Lily,  I’m  going  to  Eiirope  next 
week:  going  over  to  Paris  and  London  for  a couple  of 
months — and  I can’t  leave  you  like  this.  I can’t  do  it.  I 
know  it’s  none  of  my  business — you’ve  let  me  under- 
stand that  often  enough;  but  things  are  worse  with  you 
now  than  they  have  been  before,  and  you  must  see  that 
you’ve  got  to  accept  help  from  somebody.  You  spoke 
to  me  the  other  day  about  some  debt  to  Trenor.  I know 
what  you  mean — and  I respect  you  for  feeling  as  you 
do  about  it.” 

A blush  of  surprise  rose  to  Lily’s  pale  face,  but  before 
she  could  interrupt  him  he  had  continued  eagerly:  “Well, 
I ’ll  lend  you  the  money  to  pay  Trenor;  and  I won’t — 
I — see  here,  don’t  take  me  up  till  I’ve  finished.  What 
I mean  is,  it  ’ll  be  a plain  business  arrangement,  such  as 
one  man  would  make  with  another.  Now,  what  have  you 
got  to  say  against  that?” 

Lily’s  blush  deepened  to  a glow  in  which  humiliation 

[ 483  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


and  gratitude  were  mingled;  and  both  sentiments  re- 
vealed themselves  in  the  unexpected  gentleness  of  her 
reply. 

“Only  this:  that  it  is  exactly  what  Gus  Trenor  pro- 
posed; and  that  I can  never  again  be  sure  of  understand- 
ing the  plainest  business  arrangement.”  Then,  realizing 
that  this  answer  contained  a germ  of  injustice,  she  added, 
even  more  kindly:  “Not  that  I don’t  appreciate  your 
kindness — that  I’m  not  grateful  for  it.  But  a business 
aiTangement  between  us  would  in  any  case  be  impossible, 
because  I shall  have  no  security  to  give  when  my  debt 
to  Gus  Trenor  has  been  paid.” 

Rosedale  received  this  statement  in  silence : he  seemed 
to  feel  the  note  of  finality  in  her  voice,  yet  to  be  unable 
to  accept  it  as  closing  the  question  between  them. 

In  the  silence  Lily  had  a clear  perception  of  what  was 
passing  through  his  mind.  MTiatever  perplexity  he  felt 
as  to  the  inexorableness  of  her  course — however  little 
he  penetrated  its  motive — she  saw  that  it  unmistakably 
tended  to  strengthen  her  hold  over  him.  It  was  as  though 
the  sense  in  her  of  unexplained  scruples  and  resistances 
had  the  same  attraction  as  the  delicacy  of  feature,  the 
fastidiousness  of  manner,  which  gave  her  an  external 
rarity,  an  air  of  being  impossible  to  match.  As  he  ad- 
vanced in  social  experience  this  uniqueness  had  acquired 
a greater  value  for  him,  as  though  he  were  a collector 
who  had  learned  to  distinguish  minor  differences  of  de- 
[ 484  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


sign  and  quality  in  some  long-coveted  object. 

Lily,  perceiving  all  this,  understood  that  he  would 
marry  her  at  once,  on  the  sole  condition  of  a reconcilia- 
tion with  Mrs.  Dorset;  and  the  temptation  was  the  less 
easy  to  put  aside  because,  little  by  little,  circumstances 
were  breaking  down  her  dislike  for  Rosedale.  The  dis- 
like, indeed,  still  subsisted;  but  it  was  penetrated  here 
and  there  by  the  perception  of  mitigating  qualities  in 
him : of  a certain  gross  kindliness,  a rather  helpless  fidel- 
ity of  sentiment,  which  seemed  to  be  struggling  through 
the  hard  surface  of  his  material  ambitions. 

Reading  his  dismissal  in  her  eyes,  he  held  out  his 
hand  with  a gesture  which  conveyed  something  of  this 
inarticulate  conflict. 

“If  you ’d  only  let  me,  I ’d  set  you  up  over  them  all — 
I ’d  put  you  where  you  could  wipe  your  feet  on  ’em ! ” he 
declared;  and  it  touched  her  oddly  to  see  that  his  new 
passion  had  not  altered  his  old  standard  of  values. 

Lily  took  no  sleeping-drops  that  night.  She  lay  awake 
viewing  her  situation  in  the  crude  light  which  Rosedale’s 
visit  had  shed  on  it.  In  fending  off*  the  offer  he  was  so 
plainly  ready  to  renew,  had  she  not  sacrificed  to  one  of 
those  abstract  notions  of  honour  that  might  be  called 
the  conventionalities  of  the  moral  life.^  What  debt  did 
she  owe  to  a social  order  which  had  condemned  and 
banished  her  without  trial.?  She  had  never  been  heard 
[ 485  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

in  her  own  defence;  she  was  innocent  of  the  charge  on 
which  she  had  been  found  guilty;  and  the  irregularity 
of  her  conviction  might  seem  to  justify  the  use  of  meth- 
ods as  irregular  in  recovering  her  lost  rights.  Bertha 
Dorset,  to  save  herself,  had  not  scrupled  to  ruin  her  by 
an  open  falsehood;  why  should  she  hesitate  to  make  pri- 
vate use  of  the  facts  that  chance  had  put  in  her  way? 
After  aU,  half  the  opprobrium  of  such  an  act  lies  in  the 
name  attached  to  it.  Call  it  blackmail  and  it  becomes 
unthinkable ; but  explain  that  it  injures  no  one,  and  that 
the  rights  regained  by  it  were  unjustly  forfeited,  and  he 
must  be  a formalist  indeed  who  can  find  no  plea  in  its 
defence. 

The  arguments  pleading  for  it  with  Lily  were  the  old 
unanswerable  ones  of  the  personal  situation:  the  sense  of 
injury,  the  sense  of  failure,  the  passionate  craving  for 
a fair  chance  against  the  selfish  despotism  of  society.  She 
had  learned  by  experience  that  she  had  neither  the  apti- 
tude nor  the  moral  constancy  to  remake  her  life  on  new 
lines;  to  become  a worker  among  workers,  and  let  the 
world  of  luxury  and  pleasure  sweep  by  her  imregarded. 
She  could  not  hold  herself  much  to  blame  for  this  inef- 
fectiveness, and  she  was  perhaps  less  to  blame  than  she 
believed.  Inherited  tendencies  had  combined  with  early 
training  to  make  her  the  highly  specialized  product  she 
was:  an  organism  as  helpless  out  of  its  naiTow  range  as 
the  sea-anemone  tora  fi’om  the  rock.  She  had  been  fash- 


t 


[ 486  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ioned  to  adorn  and  delight ; to  what  other  end  does  na- 
ture round  the  rose-leaf  and  paint  the  humming-bird’s 
breast  ? And  was  it  her  fault  that  the  purely  decorative 
mission  is  less  easily  and  harmoniously  fulfilled  among 
social  beings  than  in  the  world  of  nature?  That  it  is  apt 
to  be  hampered  by  material  necessities  or  complicated 
by  moral  scruples? 

These  last  were  the  two  antagonistic  forces  which 
fought  out  their  battle  in  her  breast  during  the  long 
watches  of  the  night;  and  when  she  rose  the  next  morn- 
ing she  hardly  knew  where  the  victory  lay.  She  was  ex- 
hausted by  the  reaction  of  a night  without  sleep,  coming 
after  many  nights  of  rest  artifically  obtained ; and  in  the 
distorting  light  of  fatigue  the  future  stretched  out  be- 
fore her  grey,  interminable  and  desolate. 

She  lay  late  in  bed,  refusing  the  coffee  and  fried  eggs 
which  the  friendly  Irish  servant  thrust  through  her  door, 
and  hating  the  intimate  domestic  noises  of  the  house  and 
the  cries  and  rumblings  of  the  street.  Her  week  of  idle- 
ness had  brought  home  to  her  with  exaggerated  force 
these  small  aggravations  of  the  boarding-house  world, 
and  she  yearned  for  that  other  luxurious  world,  whose 
machinery  is  so  carefully  concealed  that  one  scene  flows 
into  another  without  perceptible  agency. 

At  length  she  rose  and  dressed.  Since  she  had  left  Mme. 
Regina’s  she  had  spent  her  days  in  the  streets,  partly  to 
escape  from  the  uncongenial  promiscuities  of  the  board- 

r 487  ] 


I 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ing-house,  and  partly  in  the  hope  that  physical  fatigue 
would  help  her  to  sleep.  But  once  out  of  the  house,  she 
could  not  decide  where  to  go ; for  she  had  avoided  Gerty 
since  her  dismissal  from  the  milliner’s,  and  she  was  not 
sure  of  a welcome  an^^vhere  else. 

The  morning  was  in  harsh  contrast  to  the  previous  day, 
A cold  grey  sky  threatened  rain,  and  a high  wind  drove 
the  dust  in  wild  spirals  up  and  doAvn  the  streets.  Lily 
walked  up  Fifth  Avenue  toward  the  Park,  hoping  to  find 
a sheltered  nook  where  she  might  sit ; but  the  wind  chilled 
her,  and  after  an  hour’s  wandering  under  the  tossing 
boughs  she  yielded  to  her  increasing  weariness,  and  took 
refuge  in  a little  restaurant  in  Fifty-ninth  Street.  She 
was  not  hungry,  and  had  meant  to  go  without  luncheon ; 
but  she  was  too  tired  to  return  home,  and  the  long  per- 
spective of  white  tables  showed  alluringly  through  the 
windows. 

The  room  was  full  of  women  and  girls,  aU  too  much 
engaged  in  the  rapid  absorption  of  tea  and  pie  to  remark 
her  entrance.  A hum  of  shriU  voices  reverberated  against 
the  low  ceiling,  leaving  Lily  shut  out  in  a little  circle  of 
silence.  She  felt  a sudden  pang  of  profound  loneliness. 
She  had  lost  the  sense  of  time,  and  it  seemed  to  her  as 
though  she  had  not  spoken  to  any  one  for  days.  Her  eyes 
sought  the  faces  about  her,  craving  a responsive  glance, 
some  sign  of  an  intuition  of  her  trouble.  But  the  sallow 
preoccupied  women,  with  their  bags  and  note-books  and 
[ 488  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


rolls  of  music,  were  all  engrossed  in  their  own  affairs,  and 
even  those  who  sat  by  themselves  were  busy  running  over 
proof-sheets  or  devouring  magazines  between  their  hur- 
ried gulps  of  tea.  Lily  alone  was  stranded  in  a great  waste 
of  disoccupation. 

She  drank  several  cups  of  the  tea  which  was  served  with 
her  portion  of  stewed  oysters,  and  her  brain  felt  clearer 
and  livelier  when  she  emerged  once  more  into  the  street. 
She  realized  now  that,  as  she  sat  in  the  restaurant,  she 
had  unconsciously  arrived  at  a final  decision.  The  dis- 
covery gave  her  an  immediate  illusion  of  activity : it  was 
exhilarating  to  think  that  she  had  actually  a reason  for 
hurrying  home.  To  prolong  her  enjoyment  of  the  sensa- 
tion she  decided  to  walk;  but  the  distance  was  so  great 
that  she  found  herself  glancing  nervously  at  the  clocks 
on  the  way.  One  of  the  surprises  of  her  unoccupied  state 
was  the  discovery  that  time,  when  it  is  left  to  itself  and 
no  definite  demands  are  mads  on  it,  cannot  be  trusted  to 
move  at  any  recognized  pace.  Usually  it  loiters;  but  just 
when  one  has  come  to  count  upon  its  slowness,  it  may 
suddenly  break  into  a wild  irrational  gallop. 

She  found,  however,  on  reaching  home,  that  the  hour 
was  still  early  enough  for  her  to  sit  down  and  rest  a 
few  minutes  before  putting  her  plan  into  execution.  The 
delay  did  not  perceptibly  weaken  her  resolve.  She  was 
frightened  and  yet  stimulated  by  the  reserved  force  of 
resolution  which  she  felt  within  herself:  she  saw  it  was  go- 
[ 489  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ing  to  be  easier,  a great  deal  easier,  than  she  had  imagined. 

At  five  o’clock  she  rose,  unlocked  her  trunk,  and  took 
out  a sealed  packet  which  she  slipped  into  the  bosom  of 
her  dress.  Even  the  contact  with  the  packet  did  not  shake 
her  nerves  as  she  had  half-expected  it  would.  She  seemed 
encased  in  a strong  armour  of  indifference,  as  though 
the  vigorous  exertion  of  her  wiU  had  finally  benumbed 
her  finer  sensibilities. 

She  dressed  herself  once  more  for  the  street,  locked 
her  door  and  went  out.  When  she  emerged  on  the  pave- 
ment, the  day  was  stiU  high,  hut  a threat  of  rain  dark- 
ened the  sky  and  cold  gusts  shook  the  signs  projecting 
from  the  basement  shops  along  the  street.  She  reached 
Fifth  Avenue  and  began  to  walk  slowly  northward.  She 
was  sufficiently  familiar  with  Mrs.  Dorset’s  habits  to 
know  that  she  could  always  be  found  at  home  after  five. 
She  might  not,  indeed,  be  accessible  to  visitors,  espe- 
cially to  a visitor  so  unwelcome,  and  against  whom  it  was 
quite  possible  that  she  had  guarded  herself  by  special 
orders;  but  Lily  had  WTitten  a note  which  she  meant  to 
send  up  with  her  name,  and  which  she  thought  would 
secure  her  admission. 

She  had  allowed  herself  time  to  walk  to  Mrs.  Dorset’s, 
thinking  that  the  quick  movement  through  the  cold 
evening  air  would  help  to  steady  her  nerves;  but  she 
;eally  felt  no  need  of  being  tranquillized.  Her  survey  of 
the  situation  remained  calm  and  unwavering. 

[ 490  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

As  she  reached  Fiftieth  Street  the  clouds  broke 
abruptly,  and  a rush  of  cold  rain  slanted  into  her  face. 
She  had  no  umbrella  and  the  moisture  quickly  pene- 
trated her  thin  spring  dress.  She  was  still  half  a mile 
from  her  destination,  and  she  decided  to  walk  across  to 
Madison  Avenue  and  take  the  electric  car.  As  she  turned 
into  the  side  street,  a vague  memory  stirred  in  her.  The 
row  of  budding  trees,  the  new  brick  and  limestone  house- 
fronts,  the  Georgian  flat-house  with  flower-boxes  on  its 
balconies,  were  merged  together  into  the  setting  of  a 
familiar  scene.  It  was  down  this  street  that  she  had 
walked  with  Selden,  that  September  day  two  years  ago ; 
a few  yards  ahead  was  the  doorway  they  had  entered 
together.  The  recollection  loosened  a throng  of  benumbed 
sensations — longings,  regrets,  imaginings,  the  throbbing 
brood  of  the  only  spring  her  heart  had  ever  known.  It 
was  strange  to  find  herself  passing  his  house  on  such  an 

errand.  She  seemed  suddenlv  to  see  her  action  as  he 

•/ 

would  see  it — and  the  fact  of  his  own  connection  with 
it,  the  fact  that,  to  attain  her  end,  she  must  trade  on 
his  name,  and  profit  by  a secret  of  his  past,  chilled  her 
blood  with  shame.  What  a long  way  she  had  travelled 
since  the  day  of  their  first  talk  together!  Even  then  her 
feet  had  been  set  in  the  path  she  was  now  following — 
even  then  she  had  resisted  the  hand  he  had  held  out. 

All  her  resentment  of  his  fancied  coldness  was  swept 
away  in  this  overwhelming  rush  of  recollection.  Twice 
[ 491  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


he  had.  been  ready  to  help  her — to  help  her  by  loving 


her,  as  he  had  said — and  if,  the  third  time,  he  had 
seemed  to  fail  her,  whom  but  herself  could  she  accuse? 
. . . Well,  that  part  of  her  life  was  over;  she  did  not 
know  why  her  thoughts  stiU  clung  to  it.  But  the  sudden 
longing  to  see  him  remained;  it  grew  to  hunger  as  she 
paused  on  the  pavement  opposite  his  door.  The  street 
was  dark  and  empty,  swept  by  the  rain.  She  had  a vision 
of  his  quiet  room,  of  the  bookshelves,  and  the  fire  on 
the  hearth.  She  looked  up  and  saw  a light  in  his  win- 
dow; then  she  crossed  the  street  and  entered  the  house. 


XII 


HE  library  looked  as  she  had  pictured  it.  The 


X green-shaded  lamps  made  tranquil  circles  of  light 
in  the  gathering  dusk,  a little  fire  flickered  on  the  hearth, 
and  Selden’s  easy-chair,  which  stood  near  it,  heid  been 
pushed  aside  when  he  rose  to  admit  her. 

He  had  checked  his  first  movement  of  surprise,  and 
stood  silent,  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  while  she  paused 
a moment  on  the  threshold,  assailed  by  a rush  of  memo- 
ries. 

The  scene  was  unchanged.  She  recognized  the  row  of 
shelves  from  which  he  had  taken  down  his  La  Bruyere, 
and  the  worn  arm  of  the  chair  he  had  leaned  against 
while  she  examined  the  precious  volume.  But  then  the 


[ 492  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


wide  September  light  had  filled  the  room,  making  it 
seem  a part  of  the  outer  world;  now  the  shaded  lamps  and 
the  warm  hearth,  detaching  it  from  the  gathering  dark- 
ness of  the  street,  gave  it  a sweeter  touch  of  intimacy. 

Becoming  gradually  aware  of  the  surprise  under  Sel- 
den’s  silence,  Lily  turned  to  him  and  said  simply:  “I 
came  to  tell  you  that  I was  sorry  for  the  way  we  parted 
— for  what  I said  to  you  that  day  at  Mrs.  Hatch’s.” 

The  words  rose  to  her  lips  spontaneously.  Even  on 
her  way  up  the  stairs,  she  had  not  thought  of  preparing 
a pretext  for  her  visit,  but  she  now  felt  an  intense  long- 
ing to  dispel  the  cloud  of  misunderstanding  that  hung 
between  them. 

Selden  returned  her  look  with  a smile.  “I  was  sorry 
too  that  we  should  have  parted  in  that  way;  but  I am 
not  sure  I did  n’t  bring  it  on  myself.  Luckily  I had  fore- 
seen the  risk  I was  taking ” 

“So  that  you  really  did  n’t  care broke  from  her 

with  a flash  of  her  old  irony. 

“So  that  I was  prepared  for  the  consequences,”  he 
corrected  good-humouredly.  “But  we  ’ll  talk  of  all  this 
later.  Do  come  and  sit  by  the  fire.  I can  recommend  that 
arm-chair,  if  you  ’ll  let  me  put  a cushion  behind  you.” 

While  he  spoke  she  had  moved  slowly  to  the  middle 
of  the  room,  and  paused  near  his  writing-table,  where 
the  lamp,  striking  upward,  cast  exaggerated  shadows  on 
the  pallour  of  her  delicately-hollowed  face. 

[ 493  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“You  look  tired — do  sit  down,”  he  repeated  gently. 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  the  request.  “I  w'anted  you 
to  know  that  I left  Mrs.  Hatch  immediately  after  I saw 
you,”  she  said,  as  though  continuing  her  confession. 

“Yes — yes;  I know,”  he  assented,  with  a rising  tinge 
of  emban’assment. 

“And  that  I did  so  because  you  told  me  to.  Before 
you  came  I had  already  begun  to  see  that  it  would  be 
impossible  to  remain  with  her — for  the  reasons  you 
gave  me;  but  I wouldn’t  admit  it — I wouldn’t  let  you 
see  that  I understood  what  you  meant.” 

“Ah,  I might  have  trusted  you  to  find  your  own  way 
out— don’t  overwhelm  me  mth  the  sense  of  my  officious- 
ness!” 

His  light  tone,  in  which,  had  her  nerves  been  steadier, 
she  would  have  recognized  the  mere  effort  to  bridge  over 
an  awkward  moment,  jarred  on  her  passionate  desire  to  be 
understood.  In  her  strange  state  of  extra-lucidity,  which 
gave  her  the  sense  of  being  already  at  the  heart  of  the 
situation,  it  seemed  incredible  that  any  one  should  think 
it  necessary  to  linger  in  the  conventional  outskirts  of 
word-play  and  evasion. 

“It  was  not  that — I was  not  ungrateful,”  she  insisted. 
But  the  power  of  expression  failed  her  suddenly;  she 
felt  a tremor  in  her  throat,  and  two  teal's  gathered  and 
fell  slowly  from  her  eyes. 

Sbjden  moved  forward  and  took  her  hand.  “You  are 

[ 494-  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


very  tired.  Why  won’t  you  sit  down  and  let  me  make 
von  comfortable.?” 

He  drew  her  to  the  arm-chair  near  the  fire,  and  placed 
a cushion  behind  her  shoulders. 

“And  now  you  must  let  me  make  you  some  tea:  you 
know  I always  have  that  amount  of  hospitality  at  my 
command.” 

She  shook  her  head,  and  two  more  tears  ran  over.  But 
she  did  not  weep  easily,  and  the  long  habit  of  self-con- 
trol reasserted  itself,  though  she  was  stiU  too  tremulous 
to  speak. 

“You  know  I can  coax  the  water  to  boil  in  five  min- 
utes,” Selden  continued,  speaking  as  though  she  were  a 
troubled  child. 

His  words  recalled  the  vision  of  that  other  afternoon 
when  they  had  sat  together  over  his  tea-table  and  talked 
jestingly  of  her  future.  There  were  moments  when  that 
day  seemed  more  remote  than  any  other  event  in  her 
life;  and  yet  she  could  always  relive  it  in  its  minutest 
detail. 

She  made  a gesture  of  refusal.  “No:  I drink  too  much 
tea.  I would  rather  sit  quiet — I must  go  in  a moment,” 
she  added  confusedly. 

Selden  continued  to  stand  near  her,  leaning  against 
the  mantelpiece.  The  tinge  of  constraint  was  beginning 
to  be  more  distinctly  perceptible  under  the  friendly  ease 
of  his  manner.  Her  self-absorption  had  not  allowed  her  to 
[ 495  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


perceive  it  at  first;  but  now  that  her  consciousness  was 
once  more  putting  forth  its  eager  feelers,  she  saw  that  her 
presence  was  becoming  an  embarrassment  to  him.  Such 
a situation  can  be  saved  only  by  an  immediate  outrush 
of  feeling;  and  on  Selden’s  side  the  determining  impulse 
was  still  lacking. 

The  discovery  did  not  disturb  Lily  as  it  might  once 
have  done.  She  had  passed  beyond  the  phase  of  weU-bred 
reciprocity,  in  which  every  demonstration  must  be  scru- 
pulously proportioned  to  the  emotion  it  elicits,  and  gen- 
erosity of  feeling  is  the  only  ostentation  condemned. 
But  the  sense  of  loneliness  returned  with  redoubled  force 
as  she  saw  herself  forever  shut  out  from  Selden’s  inmost 
self.  She  had  come  to  him  with  no  definite  purpose;  the 
mere  longing  to  see  him  hah  directed  her;  but  the  secret 
hope  she  had  cai’ried  with  her  suddenly  revealed  itself 
in  its  death-pang. 

“I  must  go,”  she  repeated,  making  a motion  to  rise  from 
her  chair.  “But  I may  not  see  you  again  for  a long  time, 
and  I wanted  to  tell  you  that  I have  never  forgotten 
the  things  you  said  to  me  at  Bellomont,  and  that  some- 
times— sometimes  when  I seemed  farthest  from  remem- 
bering them — they  have  helped  me,  and  kept  me  fi-om 
mistakes;  kept  me  from  really  becoming  what  many  peo- 
ple have  thought  me.” 

Strive  as  she  would  to  put  some  order  in  her  thoughts, 
the  words  would  not  come  more  clearly ; yet  she  felt  that 
[ 496  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


she  could  not  leave  him  without  trying  to  make  him 
understand  that  she  had  saved  herself  whole  fi’om  the 
seeming  ruin  of  her  life. 

A change  had  come  over  Selden’s  face  as  she  spoke. 
Its  guarded  look  had  yielded  to  an  expression  still  un- 
tinged by  personal  emotion,  but  full  of  a gentle  under- 
standing. 

“I  am  glad  to  have  you  tell  me  that;  but  nothing  I 
have  said  has  really  made  the  difference.  The  difference  is 
in  yourself — it  will  always  be  there.  And  since  it  is  there, 
it  can’t  really  matter  to  you  what  people  think : you  are 
so  sure  that  your  friends  will  always  understand  you.” 

“Ah,  don’t  say  that — don’t  say  that  what  you  have 
told  me  has  made  no  difference.  It  seems  to  shut  me  out 
— to  leave  me  all  alone  with  the  other  people.”  She  had 
risen  and  stood  before  him,  once  more  completely  mas- 
tered by  the  inner  urgency  of  the  moment.  The  con- 
sciousness of  his  hi.lf-divined  reluctance  had  vanished. 
Whether  he  wished  it  or  not,  he  must  see  her  wholly  for 
once  before  they  parted. 

Her  voice  had  gathered  strength,  and  she  looked  him 
gravely  in  the  eyes  as  she  continued.  “Once — twice — 
you  gave  me  the  chance  to  escape  from  my  life,  and  I 
refused  it:  refused  it  because  I was  a coward.  Afterward 
I saw  my  mistake — I saw  I could  never  be  happy  with 
what  had  contented  me  before.  But  it  was  too  late : you 
had  judged  me — I understood.  It  was  too  late  for  happi- 
[ 497  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ness — but  not  too  late  to  be  helped  by  the  thought  of 
what  I had  missed.  That  is  all  I have  lived  on — don’t 
take  it  from  me  now ! Even  in  my  worst  moments  it  has 
been  like  a little  light  in  the  darkness.  Some  women  are 
strong  enough  to  be  good  by  themselves,  but  I needed 
the  help  of  your  belief  in  me.  Perhaps  I might  have  re- 
sisted a gi’eat  temptation,  but  the  little  ones  would  have 
pulled  me  down.  And  then  I remembered — I remem- 
bered your  saying  that  such  a life  could  never  satisfy 
me ; and  I was  ashamed  to  admit  to  myself  that  it  could. 
That  is  what  you  did  for  me — that  is  what  I wanted  to 
thank  you  for.  I wanted  to  tell  you  that  I have  always 
remembered;  and  that  I have  tried — tried  hard  . . 

She  broke  off  suddenly.  Her  tears  had  risen  again,  and 
in  drawing  out  her  handkerchief  her  fingers  touched  the 
packet  in  the  folds  of  her  dress.  A wave  of  colour  suf- 
fused her,  and  the  words  died  on  her  lips.  Then  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  his  and  went  on  in  an  altered  voicec 

“I  have  tried  hard — hut  life  is  difficult,  and  I am  a 
very  useless  person.  I can  hardly  be  said  to  have  an  in- 
dependent existence.  I was  just  a screw  or  a cog  in  the 
great  machine  I called  life,  and  when  I dropped  out  of 
it  I found  I was  of  no  use  anywhere  else.  What  can  one 
do  when  one  finds  that  one  only  fits  into  one  hole.^  One 
must  get  back  to  it  or  be  tlirown  out  into  the  rubbish 
heap — and  you  don’t  know  what  it’s  like  in  the  rubbish 
heap!” 


[ 498  ] 


IHE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


Her  lips  wavered  into  a smile — she  had  been  dis- 
tracted by  the  whimsical  remembrance  of  the  confidences 
she  had  made  to  him,  two  years  earlier,  in  that  very  room. 
Then  she  had  been  planning  to  marry  Percy  Gryce — 
what  was  it  she  was  planning  now? 

The  blood  had  risen  strongly  under  Selden’s  dark  skin, 
but  his  emotion  showed  itself  only  in  an  added  serious- 
ness  of  manner. 

“You  have  something  to  tell  me — do  you  mean  to 
marry?”  he  said  abruptly. 

Lily’s  eyes  did  not  falter,  but  a look  of  wonder,  of 
puzzled  self-interrogation,  formed  itself  slowly  in  their 
depths.  In  the  light  of  his  question,  she  had  paused  to 
ask  herself  if  her  decision  had  really  been  taken  when  she 
entered  the  room. 

“You  always  told  me  I should  have  to  come  to  it 
sooner  or  later!”  she  said  with  a faint  smile. 

“And  you  have  come  to  it  now?” 

“I  shall  have  to  come  to  it — presently.  But  there  is 
something  else  I must  come  to  first.”  She  paused  again, 
trying  to  transmit  to  her  voice  the  steadiness  of  her  I'e- 
covered  smile.  “There  is  some  one  I must  say  goodbye  to. 
Oh,  not  you — we  are  sure  to  see  each  other  again — but 
the  Lily  Bart  you  knew.  I have  kept  her  with  me  all  this 
time,  but  now  we  are  going  to  part,  and  I have  brought 
her  back  to  you — I am  going  to  leave  her  here.  When  I 
go  out  presently  she  will  not  go  with  me.  I shall  like  to 
[ 499  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


think  that  she  has  stayed  with  you — and  she’ll  be  no 
trouble,  she  ’ll  take  up  no  room.” 

She  went  toward  him,  and  put  out  her  hand,  still  smil- 
ing. “Will  you  let  her  stay  with  you.?”  she  asked. 

He  caught  her  hand,  and  she  felt  in  his  the  Ubration 
of  feeling  that  had  not  yet  risen  to  his  lips.  “Lily — can’t 
I help  you.?”  he  exclaimed. 

She  looked  at  him  gently.  “Do  you  remember  what 
you  said  to  me  once.?  That  you  could  help  me  only  by 
loving  me.?  Well — you  did  love  me  for  a moment;  and 
it  helped  me.  It  has  always  helped  me.  But  the  moment 
is  gone — it  was  I who  let  it  go.  And  one  must  go  on  liv- 
ing. Goodbye.” 

She  laid  her  other  hand  on  his,  and  they  looked  at 
each  other  with  a kind  of  solemnity,  as  though  they  stood 
in  the  presence  of  death.  Something  in  truth  lay  dead 
between  them — the  love  she  had  killed  in  him  and  could 
no  longer  call  to  life.  But  something  lived  between  them 
also,  and  leaped  up  in  her  like  an  imperishable  flame : it 
was  the  love  his  love  had  kindled,  the  passion  of  her  soul 
for  his. 

In  its  light  everything  else  dwindled  and  fell  away  from 
her.  She  understood  now  that  she  could  not  go  forth  and 
leave  her  old  self  with  him:  that  self  must  indeed  live  on 
in  his  presence,  but  it  must  still  continue  to  be  heis. 

Selden  had  retained  her  hand,  and  continued  to  scru- 
tinize her  with  a strange  sense  of  foreboding.  The  ex- 
[ 500  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


teinal  aspect  of  the  situation  had  vanished  for  him  as 
completely  as  for  her : he  felt  it  only  as  one  of  those  rare 
moments  which  lift  the  veil  from  their  faces  as  they  pass. 

“Lily,”  he  said  in  a low  voice,  “you  mustn’t  speak  in 
this  way.  I can’t  let  you  go  without  knowing  what  you 
mean  to  do.  Things  may  change — but  they  don’t  pass. 
You  can  never  go  out  of  my  life.” 

She  met  his  eyes  with  an  illumined  look.  “No,”  she 
said.  “ I see  that  now.  Let  us  always  be  friends.  Then  I 
shall  feel  safe,  whatever  happens.” 

“Whatever  happens.''  What  do  you  mean.'*  WHiat  is 
going  to  happen.''” 

She  turned  away  quietly  and  walked  toward  the  hearth. 

“Nothing  at  present — except  that  I am  very  cold, 
and  that  before  I go  you  must  make  up  the  fire  for  me.” 

She  knelt  on  the  hearthnig,  stretching  her  hands  to 
the  embere.  Puzzled  by  the  sudden  change  in  her  tone, 
he  mechanically  gathered  a handful  of  wood  from  the 
basket  and  tossed  it  on  the  fire.  As  he  did  so,  he  noticed 
how  thin  her  hands  looked  against  the  rising  light  of 
the  flames.  He  saw  too,  under  the  loose  lines  of  her  dress, 
how  the  curves  of  her  figure  had  shrunk  to  angularity ; 
he  remembered  long  afterward  how  the  red  play  of  the 
flame  sharpened  the  depression  of  her  nostrils,  and  in- 
tensified the  blackness  of  the  shadows  which  strack  up 
from  her  cheekbones  to  her  eyes.  She  knelt  there  for  a 
few  moments  in  silence;  a silence  which  he  dared  not 
[ 601  j 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


break.  When  she  rose  he  fancied  that  he  saw  her  draw 
something  from  her  dress  and  drop  it  into  the  fire;  but 
he  hardly  noticed  the  gesture  at  the  time.  His  faculties 
seemed  tranced,  and  he  was  still  gi-oping  for  the  word 
to  break  the  spell. 

She  went  up  to  him  and  laid  her  hands  on  his  shoM- 
deis.  “Goodbye,”  she  said,  and  as  he  bent  over  her  she 
touched  his  forehead  with  her  lips. 


XIII 


iHE  street-lamps  were  lit,  but  the  rain  had  ceased. 


JL  and  there  was  a momentary  revival  of  light  in  the 
upper  sky, 

Lily  walked  on  unconscious  of  her  suiToundings.  She 
was  still  treading  the  buoyant  ether  w hich  emanates  from 
the  high  moments  of  life.  But  gradually  it  shrank  away 
from  her  and  she  felt  the  dull  pavement  beneath  her  feet. 
The  sense  of  weariness  returned  with  accumulated  force, 
and  for  a moment  she  felt  that  she  could  walk  no  farther. 
She  had  reached  the  comer  of  Forty-first  Street  and 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  she  remembered  that  in  Bryant  Park 
there  were  seats  where  she  might  rest. 

That  melancholy  pleasure-ground  was  almost  deserted 
when  she  entered  it,  and  she  sank  down  on  an  empty 
bench  in  the  glare  of  an  electric  street-lamp.  The  warmth 
of  the  fire  had  passed  out  of  her  veins,  and  she  told  her- 


[ 502  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


self  that  she  must  not  sit  long  in  the  penetrating  damp* 
ness  which  struck  up  from  the  wet  asphalt.  But  her  will- 
power seemed  to  have  spent  itself  in  a last  great  effort, 
and  she  was  lost  in  the  blank  reaction  which  follows  on 
an  unwonted  expenditure  of  energy.  And  besides,  what 
was  there  to  go  home  to.?  Nothing  but  the  silence  of  her 
cheerless  room — that  silence  of  the  night  which  may  be 
more  racking  to  tired  nerves  than  the  most  discordant 
noises:  that,  and  the  bottle  of  chloral  by  her  bed.  The 
thought  of  the  chloral  was  the  only  spot  of  light  in  the 
dark  prospect:  she  could  feel  its  lulling  influence  steal- 
ing over  her  already.  But  she  was  troubled  by  the  thought 
that  it  was  losing  its  power — she  dared  not  go  back  to 
it  too  soon.  Of  late  the  sleep  it  had  brought  her  had  been 
more  broken  and  less  profound;  there  had  been  nights 
when  she  was  perpetually  floating  up  through  it  to  con- 
sciousness. What  if  the  effect  of  the  drug  should  gradu- 
ally fail,  as  all  narcotics  were  said  to  fail.?  She  remem- 
bered the  chemist’s  warning  against  increasing  the  dose; 
and  she  had  heard  befoi£  of  the  capricious  and  incalcula- 
ble action  of  the  drug.  Her  di’ead  of  returning  to  a sleep- 
less night  was  so  great  that  she  lingered  on,  hoping  that 
excessive  weariness  would  reinforce  the  waning  power  of 
the  chloral. 

Night  had  now  closed  In,  and  the  roar  of  traffic  in 
Forty-second  Street  was  dying  out.  As  complete  dark- 
ness fell  on  the  square  the  lingering  occupants  of  the 
[ 503  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


benches  rose  and  dispersed;  but  now  and  then  a stray 
figure,  hurrying  homeward,  struck  across  the  path  where 
Lily  sat,  looming  black  for  a moment  in  the  white  circle 
of  electric  light.  One  or  two  of  these  passers-by  slackened 
their  pace  to  glance  curiously  at  her  lonely  figure;  but 
she  was  hardly  conscious  of  their  scrutiny. 

Suddenly,  however,  she  became  aware  that  one  of  the 
passing  shadows  remained  stationary  between  her  line  of 
vision  and  the  gleaming  asphalt;  and  raising  her  eyes 
she  saw  a young  woman  bending  over  her. 

“Excuse  me — are  you  sick.? — MTiy,  it ’s  Miss  Bart!”  a 
half-familiar  voice  exclaimed. 

Lily  looked  up.  The  speaker  w'as  a poorly-dressed  young 
woman  with  a bundle  under  her  arm.  Her  face  had  the 
air  of  unwholesome  refinement  which  ill-health  and  over- 
work may  produce,  but  its  common  prettiness  was  re- 
deemed by  the  strong  and  generous  curve  of  the  lips. 

“You  don’t  remember  me,”  she  continued,  brightening 
with  the  pleasure  of  recognition,  “but  I’d  know  you  any- 
where, I ’ve  thought  of  you  such  a lot.  I guess  my  folks 
aU  know  your  name  by  heart.  I was  one  of  the  girls  at 
Miss  Farish’s  club — you  helped  me  to  go  to  the  coun- 
try that  time  I had  lung-trouble.  ]\Iy  name’s  Nettie 
Struther.  It  was  Nettie  Crane  then — but  I daresay  you 
don’t  remember  that  either.” 

Yes:  Lily  was  beginning  to  remember.  The  episode  of 
Nettie  Crane’s  timely  rescue  from  disease  had  been  one 
[ 504  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


of  the  most  satisfying  incidents  of  her  connection  with 
Gerty’s  charitable  work.  She  had  furnished  the  girl  with 
the  means  to  go  to  a sanatorium  in  the  mountains:  it 
struck  her  now  with  a peculiar  irony  that  the  money  she 
had  used  had  been  Gus  Trenor’s. 

She  tried  to  reply,  to  assure  the  speaker  that  she  had 
not  forgotten;  but  her  voice  failed  in  the  effort,  and  she 
felt  herself  sinking  under  a great  wave  of  physical  weak- 
ness. Nettie  Struther,  with  a startled  exclamation,  sat 
down  and  slipped  a shabbily-clad  arm  behind  her  back, 

“Why,  Miss  Bart,  you  are  sick.  Just  lean  on  me  a little 
till  you  feel  better.” 

A faint  glow  of  returning  strength  seemed  to  pass  into 
Lily  from  the  pressure  of  the  supporting  arm. 

“I’m  only  tired — it  is  nothing,”  she  found  voice  to 
say  in  a moment;  and  then,  as  she  met  the  timid  appeal 
of  her  companion’s  eyes,  she  added  involuntarily : “I  have 
been  unhappy — in  great  trouble.” 

“ You  in  trouble.?  I ’ve  always  thought  of  you  as  being 
so  high  up,  where  everything  was  just  grand.  Sometimes, 
when  I felt  real  mean,  and  got  to  wondering  why  things 
were  so  queerly  fixed  in  the  world,  I used  to  remember 
that  you  were  having  a lovely  time,  anyhow,  and  that 
seemed  to  show  there  was  a kind  of  justice  somewhere 
But  you  must  n’t  sit  here  too  long — it’s  fearfully  damp. 
Don’t  you  feel  strong  enough  to  walk  on  a little  ways 
now?”  she  broke  off. 


[ 505  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


®‘Yes — yes;  I must  go  home,”  Lily  murmured,  rising. 

Her  eyes  rested  wonderingly  on  the  thin  shabby  figure 
at  her  side.  She  had  known  Nettie  Crane  as  one  of  the 
discouraged  victims  of  over-work  and  anaemic  parentage: 
one  of  the  superfluous  fragments  of  life  destined  to  be 
swept  prematurely  into  that  social  refuse-heap  of  which 
Lily  had  so  lately  expressed  her  dread.  But  Nettie  Stru- 
ther’s  frail  envelope  was  now  alive  %vith  hope  and  energy : 
whatever  fate  the  future  reserved  for  her,  she  would  not 
be  cast  into  the  refuse-heap  wthout  a struggle. 

“I  am  very  glad  to  have  seen  you,”  Lily  continued, 
summoning  a smile  to  her  unsteady  lips.  “ It  will  be  my 
turn  to  think  of  you  as  happy — and  the  world  will  seem 
a less  unjust  place  to  me  too.” 

“Oh,  but  I can’t  leave  you  like  this — you  ’re  not  fit  to 
go  home  alone.  And  I can’t  go  with  you  either!”  Nettie 
Struther  wailed  with  a start  of  recollection.  “You  see, 
it’s  my  husband’s  night-shift — he ’s  a motor-man — and 
the  friend  I leave  the  baby  with  has  to  step  upstairs  to 
get  her  husband’s  supper  at  seven.  I didn’t  teU  you  I 
had  a baby,  did  I.?  She’ll  be  four  months  old  day  after 
tomorrow,  and  to  look  at  her  you  would  n’t  think  I ’d 
ever  had  a sick  day.  I ’d  give  anything  to  show  you  the 
baby.  Miss  Bart,  and  we  live  right  down  the  street  here 
■ — it ’s  only  three  blocks  off.”  She  lifted  her  eyes  tenta- 
tively to  Lily’s  face,  and  then  added  with  a burst  of 
courage:  “\Vh^  won’t  you  get  right  into  the  cars  and 
[ 506  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


come  home  with  me  while  I get  baby’s  supper?  It’s  real 
warm  in  our  kitchen,  and  you  can  rest  there,  and  I’U 
take  you  home  as  soon  as  ever  she  drops  off  to  sleep.” 

It  was  warm  in  the  kitchen,  which,  when  Nettie 
Struther’s  match  had  made  a flame  leap  from  the  gas- 
jet  above  the  table,  revealed  itself  to  Lily  as  extraor- 
dinarily small  and  almost  miraculously  clean.  A fire 
shone  through  the  polished  flanks  of  the  iron  stove,  and 
near  it  stood  a crib  in  which  a baby  was  sitting  upright, 
with  incipient  anxiety  struggling  for  expression  on  a 
countenance  still  placid  with  sleep. 

Having  passionately  celebrated  her  reunion  with  her 
offspring,  and  excused  herself  in  cryptic  language  for  the 
lateness  of  her  return,  Nettie  restored  the  baby  to  the 
crib  and  shyly  invited  Miss  Bart  to  the  rocking-chair 
near  the  stove. 

“We ’ve  got  a parlour  too,”  she  explained  with  pardon- 
able pride;  “but  I guess  it ’s  warmer  in  here,  and  I don’t 
want  to  leave  you  alone  while  I ’m  getting  baby’s  supper.” 

On  receiving  Lily’s  assurance  that  she  much  prefen’ed 
the  friendly  proximity  of  the  kitchen  fire,  Mrs.  Struther 
proceeded  to  prepare  a bottle  of  infantile  food,  which 
she  tenderly  applied  to  the  baby’s  impatient  lips;  and 
while  the  ensuing  degustation  went  on,  she  seated  her- 
self with  a beaming  countenance  beside  her  visitor. 

“You’re  sure  you  won’t  let  me  warm  up  a drop  of 
coffee  for  you.  Miss  Bart  ? There ’s  some  of  baby’s  fresh 

I ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


milk  left  over — well,  maybe  you ’d  rather  just  sit  quiet 
and  rest  a little  while.  It ’s  too  lovely  having  you  here. 
I’ve  thought  of  it  so  often  that  I can’t  beheve  it’s 
really  come  true.  I ’ve  said  to  George  again  and  again : 
‘I  just  wish  Miss  Bart  could  see  me  now — ’ and  I used 
to  watch  for  your  name  in  the  papers,  and  we’d  talk 
over  what  you  were  doing,  and  read  the  descriptions  of 
the  dresses  you  wore.  I haven’t  seen  your  name  for  a 
long  time,  though,  and  I began  to  be  afraid  you  were 
sick,  and  it  woi-ried  me  so  that  Greorge  said  I ’d  get  sick 
myself,  fretting  about  it.”  Her  lips  broke  into  a remi- 
niscent smile.  “Well,  I can’t  afford  to  be  sick  again, 
that’s  a fact:  the  last  spell  nearly  finished  me.  MTien 
you  sent  me  off  that  time  I never  thought  I ’d  come 
back  alive,  and  I didn’t  much  care  if  I did.  You  see  I 
did  n’t  know  about  George  and  the  baby  then.” 

She  paused  to  readjust  the  bottle  to  the  child’s  bub- 
bling mouth. 

“You  precious — don’t  you  be  in  too  much  of  a 
hurry!  Was  it  mad  with  mommer  for  getting  its  supper 
so  late?  Marry  Anto’nette — that’s  what  we  call  her: 
after  the  French  queen  in  that  play  at  the  Garden — I 
told  George  the  actress  reminded  me  of  you,  and  that 
made  me  fancy  the  name  ...  I never  thought  I ’d  get 
man'ied,  you  know,  and  I’d  never  have  had  the  heart 
to  go  on  working  just  for  myself.” 

She  broke  off  again,  and  meeting  the  encouragement 

[ 508  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


in  Lily’s  eyes,  went  on,  with  a flush  rising  under  hei: 
anaemic  skin:  “You  see  I wasn’t  only  just  sick  that 
time  you  sent  me  off — I was  dreadfully  unhappy  too. 
I’d  known  a gentleman  where  I was  employed — I don’t 
know  as  you  remember  I did  type-writing  in  a big  im- 
porting firm — and — well — I thought  we  were  to  be 
married : he ’d  gone  steady  with  me  six  months  and  given 
me  his  mother’s  wedding  ring.  But  I presume  he  was  too 
stylish  for  me — he  travelled  for  the  firm,  and  had  seen 
a great  deal  of  society.  Woi’k  girls  aren’t  looked  after 
the  way  you  are,  and  they  don’t  always  know  how  to 
look  after  themselves.  I didn’t  . . . and  it  pretty  near 
killed  me  when  he  went  away  and  left  off*  writing  . . . 
It  was  then  I came  down  sick — I thought  it  was  the 
end  of  everything.  I guess  it  would  have  been  if  you 
had  n’t  sent  me  off.  But  when  I found  I was  getting 
well  I began  to  take  heart  in  spite  of  myself.  And  then, 
when  I got  back  home,  George  came  round  and  asked 
me  to  marry  him.  At  first  I thought  I could  n’t,  because 
we’d  been  brought  up  together,  and  I knew  he  knew 
about  me.  But  after  a while  I began  to  see  that  that 
made  it  easier.  I never  could  have  told  another  man,  and 
I’d  never  have  married  without  telling;  but  if  George 
cared  for  me  enough  to  have  me  as  I was,  I did  n’t  see 
why  I shouldn’t  begin  over  again — and  I did.” 

The  strength  of  the  victory  shone  forth  from  her  as  she 
lifted  her  irradiated  face  from  the  child  on  her  knees. 

[ 509  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“But,  mercy,  I didn’t  mean  to  go  on  like  this  about 
myself,  with  you  sitting  there  looking  so  fagged  out.  Only 
it ’s  so  lovely  having  you  here,  and  letting  you  see  just 
how  you ’ve  helped  me.”  The  baby  had  sunk  back  bliss- 
fully replete,  and.  Mrs.  Struther  softly  rose  to  lay  the  bot- 
tle aside.  Then  she  paused  before  Miss  Bart. 

“I  only  wish  I could  help  you — but  I suppose  there’s 
nothing  on  earth  I could  do,”  she  murmured  wistfully. 

Lily,  instead  of  answering,  rose  with  a smile  and  held 
out  her  arms;  and  the  mother,  understanding  the  ges- 
ture, laid  her  child  in  them. 

The  baby,  feeling  herself  detached  from  her  habitual 
anchorage,  made  an  instinctive  motion  of  resistance;  but 
the  soothing  influences  of  digestion  prevailed,  and  Lily 
felt  the  soft  weight  sink  trustfully  against  her  breast. 
The  child’s  confidence  in  its  safety  thrilled  her  with  a 
sense  of  warmth  and  returning  life,  and  she  bent  over, 
wondering  at  the  rosy  blur  of  the  little  face,  the  empty 
clearness  of  the  eyes,  the  vague  tendrilly  motions  of  the 
folding  and  unfolding  fingers.  At  first  the  burden  in  her 
arms  seemed  as  light  as  a pink  cloud  or  a heap  of  down, 
but  as  she  continued  to  hold  it  the  weight  increased,  sink- 
ing deeper,  and  penetrating  her  with  a strange  sense  of 
weakness,  as  though  the  child  entered  into  her  and  be- 
came a part  of  herself. 

She  looked  up,  and  saw  Nettie’s  eyes  resting  on  her 
with  tenderness  and  exultation. 

[ 510  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


“Wouldn’t  it  be  too  lovely  for  anything  if  she  could 
grow  up  to  be  just  like  you?  Of  course  I know  she  never 
caiold — but  mothers  are  always  dreaming  the  craziest 
things  for  their  children.” 

Lily  clasped  the  child  close  for  a moment  and  laid  her 
back  in  her  mother’s  arms. 

“Oh,  she  must  not  do  that — I should  be  afraid  to 
come  and  see  her  too  often!”  she  said  with  a smile;  and 
then,  resisting  Mrs.  Struther’s  anxious  offer  of  compan- 
ionship, and  reiterating  the  promise  that  of  course  she 
would  come  back  soon,  and  make  George’s  acquaintance, 
and  see  the  baby  in  her  bath,  she  passed  out  of  the 
kitchen  and  went  alone  down  the  tenement  stairs. 

As  she  reached  the  street  she  realized  that  she  felt  stronger 
and  happier:  the  little  episode  had  done  her  good.  It 
was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  come  across  the  results 
of  her  spasmodic  benevolence,  and  the  surprised  sense 
of  human  fellowship  took  the  mortal  chill  from  her 
heart. 

It  was  not  till  she  entered  her  own  door  that  she  felt 
the  reaction  of  a deeper  loneliness.  It  was  long  after  seven 
o’clock,  and  the  light  and  odours  proceeding  from  the 
basement  made  it  manifest  that  the  boarding-house  din- 
ner had  begun.  She  hastened  up  to  her  room,  lit  the  gas, 
and  began  to  dress.  She  did  not  mean  to  pamper  herself 
any  longer,  to  go  without  food  because  her  surroundings 

[ 511  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


made  it  unpalatable.  Since  it  was  her  fate  to  live  in  a 
boarding-house,  she  must  learn  to  fall  in  with  the  con- 
ditions of  the  life.  Nevertheless  she  was  glad  that,  when 
she  descended  to  the  heat  and  glare  of  the  dining-room, 
the  repast  was  nearly  over. 

In  her  owti  room  again,  she  was  seized  with  a sudden 
fever  of  activity.  For  weeks  past  she  had  been  too  hstless 
and  indifferent  to  set  her  possessions  in  order,  but  now 
she  began  to  examine  systematically  the  contents  of  her 
drawers  and  cupboard.  She  had  a few  handsome  dresses 
left — survivals  of  her  last  phase  of  splendour,  on  the  Sa- 
brina and  in  London — but  when  she  had  been  obliged 
to  part  with  her  maid  she  had  given  the  woman  a gener- 
ous share  of  her  cast-off  apparel.  The  remaining  di'esses, 
though  they  had  lost  their  freshness,  stiU  kept  the  long 
unerring  lines,  the  sweep  and  amplitude  of  the  great  art- 
ist’s stroke,  and  as  she  spread  them  out  on  the  bed  the 
scenes  in  which  they  had  been  worn  rose  rtvidly  before 
her.  An  association  lurked  in  every  fold:  each  fall  of  lace 
and  gleam  of  embroidery  was  like  a letter  in  the  record 
of  her  past.  She  was  startled  to  find  how  the  atmosphere 
of  her  old  life  enveloped  her.  But,  after  all,  it  was  the  hfe 
she  had  been  made  for:  every  dawning  tendency  in  her 
had  been  carefully  directed  toward  it,  aU  her  interests 
and  activities  had  been  taught  to  centre  around  it.  She 
was  like  some  rare  flower  grown  for  exhibition,  a flower 

[ 512  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

from  which  every  bud  had  been  nipped  except  the  cx^own- 
ing  blossom  of  her  beauty. 

Last  of  all,  she  drew  forth  from  the  bottom  of  her 
trunk  a heap  of  white  drapery  which  fell  shapelessly 
across  her  arm.  It  was  the  Reynolds  dress  she  had  worn 
in  the  Bry  tableaux.  It  had  been  impossible  for  her  to 
give  it  away,  but  she  had  never  seen  it  since  that  night, 
and  the  long  flexible  folds,  as  she  shook  them  out,  gave 
forth  an  odour  of  violets  which  came  to  her  like  a breath 
from  the  flower-edged  fountain  where  she  had  stood  with 
Lawrence  Selden  and  disowned  her  fate.  She  put  back 
the  dresses  one  by  one,  laying  away  with  each  some  gleam 
of  light,  some  note  of  laughter,  some  stray  waft  from  the 
rosy  shores  of  pleasure.  She  was  still  in  a state  of  highly- 
wrought  impressionability,  and  every  hint  of  the  past  sent 
a lingering  tremor  along  her  nerves. 

She  had  just  closed  her  tnink  on  the  white  folds  of 
the  Reynolds  dress  when  she  heard  a tap  at  her  door, 
and  the  red  fist  of  the  Irish  maid-servant  thrust  in  a be- 
lated letter.  Carrying  it  to  the  light,  Lily  read  with  sur- 
prise the  address  stamped  on  the  upper  comer  of  the  en- 
velope. It  was  a business  communication  from  the  office 
of  her  aunt’s  executors,  and  she  wondered  what  unex- 
pected development  had  caused  them  to  break  silence  be- 
fore the  appointed  time. 

She  opened  the  envelope  and  a cheque  fluttered  to 
the  floor.  As  she  stooped  to  pick  it  up  the  blood  rushed 

[ 813  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


to  her  face.  The  cheque  represented  the  full  amount  of 
Mrs.  Peniston’s  legacy,  and  the  letter  accompanying  it 
explained  that  the  executors,  having  adjusted  the  busi- 
ness of  the  estate  with  less  delay  than  they  had  expected, 
had  decided  to  anticipate  the  date  fixed  for  the  payment 
of  the  bequests. 

Lily  sat  down  beside  the  desk  at  the  foot  of  her  bed, 
and  spreading  out  the  cheque,  read  over  and  over  the 
ten  thousand  dollars  written  across  it  in  a steely  business 
^ hand.  Ten  months  earlier  the  amount  it  stood  for  had 
represented  the  depths  of  penury;  but  her  standard  of 
values  had  changed  in  the  interval,  and  now  visions  of 
wealth  lurked  in  every  flourish  of  the  pen.  As  she  con- 
tinued to  gaze  at  it,  she  felt  the  glitter  of  the  visions 
mounting  to  her  brain,  and  after  a while  she  lifted  the 
hd  of  the  desk  and  slipped  the  magic  formula  out  of 
sight.  It  was  easier  to  think  without  those  five  figures 
dancing  before  her  eyes;  and  she  had  a great  deal  of 
thinking  to  do  before  she  slept. 

She  opened  her  cheque-book,  and  plunged  into  such 
anxious  calculations  as  had  prolonged  her  vigil  at  Bello- 
mont  on  the  night  when  she  had  decided  to  marry  Percy 
Gryce.  Poverty  simplifies  book-keeping,  and  her  financial 
situation  was  easier  to  ascertain  than  it  had  been  then ; 
but  she  had  not  yet  learned  the  control  of  money,  and 
during  her  transient  phase  of  luxury  at  the  Emporium 
she  had  slipped  back  into  habits  of  extravagance  which 
[ 514  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


still  impaired  her  slender  balance.  A careful  examination 
of  her  cheque-book,  and  of  the  unpaid  bills  in  her  desk, 
showed  that,  when  the  latter  had  been  settled,  she  would 
have  barely  enough  to  live  on  for  the  next  three  or  four 
months;  and  even  after  that,  if  she  were  to  continue  her 
present  way  of  living,  without  earning  any  additional 
money,  all  incidental  expenses  must  be  reduced  to  the 
vanishing  point.  She  hid  her  eyes  with  a shudder,  be- 
holding herself  at  the  entrance  of  that  ever-narrowing 
perspective  down  which  she  had  seen  Miss  Silverton’s 
dowdy  figure  take  its  despondent  way. 

It  was  no  longer,  however,  from  the  vision  of  material 
poverty  that  she  turned  with  the  greatest  shrinking. 
She  had  a sense  of  deeper  empoverishment — of  an  inner 
destitution  compared  to  which  outward  conditions  dwin- 
died  into  insignificance.  It  was  indeed  miserable  to  be 
poor — to  look  forward  to  a shabby,  anxious  middle-age, 
leading  by  dreaiy  degrees  of  economy  and  self-denial  to 
gradual  absorption  in  the  dingy  communal  existence  of 
the  boarding-house.  But  there  was  something  more  miser- 
able still — it  was  the  clutch  of  solitude  at  her  heart,  the 
sense  of  being  swept  like  a stray  uprooted  growth  down 
the  heedless  current  of  the  years.  That  was  the  feeling 
which  possessed  her  now — the  feeling  of  being  something 
rootless  and  ephemeral,  mere  spin-drift  of  the  whirling 
surface  of  existence,  without  anything  to  which  the  poor 
little  tentacles  of  self  could  cling  before  the  awful  flood 

[ 515  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


submerged  them.  And  as  she  looked  back  she  saw  that 
there  had  never  been  a time  when  she  had  had  any  real 
relation  to  life.  Her  parents  too  had  been  rootless,  blo^vn 
hither  and  thither  on  every  wnd  of  fashion,  without 
any  personal  existence  to  shelter  them  from  its  shifting 
gusts.  She  herself  had  gi’own  up  without  any  one  spot 
of  earth  being  dearer  to  her  than  another:  there  was  no 
centre  of  early  pieties,  of  grave  endearing  traditions,  to 
which  her  heart  could  revert  and  from  which  it  could 
draw  strength  for  itself  and  tenderness  for  others.  In 
whatever  form  a slowly-accumulated  past  lives  in  the 
blood — whether  in  the  concrete  image  of  the  old  house 
stored  with  visual  memories,  or  in  the  conception  of  the 
house  not  built  with  hands,  but  made  up  of  inherited 
passions  and  loyalties — it  has  the  same  power  of  broad- 
ening and  deepening  the  individual  existence,  of  attach- 
ing it  by  mysterious  links  of  kinship  to  all  the  mighty 
sum  of  human  striving. 

Such  a vision  of  the  solidarity  of  life  had  never  before 
come  to  Lily.  She  had  had  a premonition  of  it  in  the 
blind  motions  of  her  mating-instinct ; but  they  had  been 
checked  by  the  disintegi’ating  influences  of  the  life  about 
her.  All  the  men  and  women  she  knew  were  like  atoms 
whirling  away  from  each  other  in  some  wild  centrifugal 
dance:  her  fimt  glimpse  of  the  continuitv'  of  life  had 
come  to  her  that  evening  in  Nettie  Struthers  kitchen. 

The  poor  little  working-girl  who  had  found  strength 

[ 616  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


to  gather  up  the  fragments  of  her  life,  and  build  herself 
a shelter  with  them,  seemed  to  Lily  to  have  reached  the 
central  tnith  of  existence.  It  was  a meagre  enough  life, 
on  the  grim  edge  of  poverty,  with  scant  margin  for  pos- 
sibilities of  sickness  or  mischance,  but  it  had  the  frail 
audacious  permanence  of  a bird’s  nest  built  on  the  edge 
of  a cliff — a mere  wisp  of  leaves  and  straw,  yet  so  put 
together  that  the  lives  entrusted  to  it  may  hang  safely 
over  the  abyss. 

Yes — but  it  had  taken  two  to  build  the  nest;  the 
man’s  faith  as  well  as  the  woman’s  courage.  Lily  remem- 
bered Nettie’s  words : I Tcnew  he  hnew  about  me.  Her  hus- 
band’s faith  in  her  had  made  her  renewal  possible — it  is 
so  easy  for  a woman  to  become  what  the  man  she  loves 
believes  her  to  be!  Well — Selden  had  twice  been  ready 
to  stake  his  faith  on  Lily  Bart;  but  the  third  trial  had 
been  too  severe  for  his  endurance.  The  very  quality  of 
his  love  had  made  it  the  more  impossible  to  recall  to  life. 
If  it  had  been  a simple  instinct  of  the  blood,  the  power 
of  her  beauty  might  have  revived  it.  But  the  fact  that 
it  struck  deeper,  that  it  was  inextricably  wound  up  with 
inherited  habits  of  thought  and  feeling,  made  it  as  impos- 
sible to  restore  to  growth  as  a deep-rooted  plant  torn 
from  its  bed.  Selden  had  given  her  of  his  best;  but  he 
was  as  incapable  as  herself  of  an  uncritical  return  to 
former  states  of  feeling. 

There  remained  to  her,  as  she  had  told  him,  the  up- 

[ ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


lifting  memory  of  his  faith  in  her ; but  she  had  not  reeiched 
the  age  when  a woman  can  live  on  her  memories.  As  she 
held  Nettie  Struther’s  child  in  her  arms  the  frozen  cur- 
rents of  youth  had  loosed  themselves  and  run  warm  in 
her  veins : the  old  life-hunger  possessed  her,  and  all  her 
being  clamoured  for  its  share  of  personal  happiness.  Yes 
— it  was  happiness  she  still  wanted,  and  the  ghmpse  she 
had  caught  of  it  made  everything  else  of  no  account.  One 
by  one  she  had  detached  herself  from  the  baser  possibih- 
ties,  and  she  saw  that  nothing  now  remained  to  her  but 
the  emptiness  of  renunciation. 

It  was  growing  late,  and  an  immense  weariness  once 
more  possessed  her.  It  was  not  the  stealing  sense  of  sleep, 
but  a vivid  wakeful  fatigue,  a wan  lucidity  of  mind 
against  which  all  the  possibihties  of  the  future  were 
shadowed  forth  gigantically.  She  was  appalled  by  the  in- 
tense clearness  of  the  vision;  she  seemed  to  have  broken 
thi-ough  the  merciful  veil  which  intervenes  between  in- 
tention and  action,  and  to  see  exactly  what  she  would  do 
in  all  the  long  days  to  come.  There  was  the  cheque  in 
her  desk,  for  instance — she  meant  to  use  it  in  pavdng  her 
debt  to  Trenor;  but  she  foresaw  that  when  the  morning 
came  she  would  put  off  doing  so,  would  slip  into  gradual 
tolerance  of  the  debt.  The  thought  terrified  her — she 
dreaded  to  fall  from  the  height  of  her  last  moment  %vith 
Lawrence  Selden.  But  how  could  she  trust  herself  to  keep 
her  footing.^  She  knew  the  strength  of  the  opposing  im- 
[ S18  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


pulses — she  could  feel  the  countless  hands  of  habit  drag- 
ging her  back  into  some  fresh  compromise  with  fate.  She 
felt  an  intense  longing  to  prolong,  to  perpetuate,  the 
momentary  exaltation  of  her  spirit.  If  only  life  could  end 
now — end  on  this  tragic  yet  sweet  vision  of  lost  possi- 
bilities, which  gave  her  a sense  of  kinship  with  all  the 
loving  and  foregoing  in  the  world! 

She  reached  out  suddenly  and,  drawing  the  cheque 
from  her  writing-desk,  enclosed  it  in  an  envelope  which 
she  addressed  to  her  bank.  She  then  wrote  out  a cheque  for 
Trenor,  and  placing  it,  without  an  accompanying  word, 
in  an  envelope  inscribed  with  his  name,  laid  the  two  let- 
ters side  by  side  on  her  desk.  After  that  she  continued 
to  sit  at  the  table,  sorting  her  papers  and  witing,  till 
the  intense  silence  of  the  house  reminded  her  of  the  late- 
ness of  the  hour.  In  the  street  the  noise  of  wheels  had 
ceased,  and  the  rumble  of  the  “elevated”  came  only  at 
long  intervals  through  the  deep  unnatural  hush.  In  the 
mysterious  nocturnal  separation  from  all  outward  signs 
of  life,  she  felt  herself  more  strangely  confronted  with 
her  fate.  The  sensation  made  her  brain  reel,  and  she 
tried  to  shut  out  consciousness  by  pressing  her  hands 
against  her  eyes.  But  the  terrible  silence  and  emptiness 
seemed  to  symbolize  her  future — she  felt  as  though  the 
house,  the  street,  the  world  were  all  empty,  and  she  alone 
left  sentient  in  a lifeless  universe. 

But  this  was  the  verge  of  delirium  . . . she  had  never 

[ 519  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


hung  so  near  the  dizzy  brink  of  the  unreal.  Sleep  was  what 
she  wanted — she  remembered  that  she  had  not  closed 
her  eyes  for  two  nights.  The  little  bottle  was  at  her  bed- 
side, w^aiting  to  lay  its  spell  upon  her.  She  rose  and  un- 
dressed hastily,  hungering  now  for  the  touch  of  her  pil- 
low. She  felt  so  profoundly  tired  that  she  thought  she 
must  fall  asleep  at  once;  but  as  soon  as  she  had  lain 
down  every  nerve  started  once  more  into  separate  wake- 
fulness. It  was  as  though  a great  blaze  of  electric  light 
had  been  turned  on  in  her  head,  and  her  poor  little  an- 
guished self  shrank  and  cowered  in  it,  without  knowing 
where  to  take  refuge. 

She  had  not  imagined  that  such  a multiplication  of 
wakefulness  was  possible : her  whole  past  was  reenacting 
itself  at  a hundred  different  points  of  consciousness. 
Where  was  the  drug  that  could  still  this  legion  of  in- 
surgent nerves  ? The  sense  of  exhaustion  wmuld  have  been 
sweet  compared  to  this  shrill  beat  of  activities;  but 
weariness  had  dropped  from  her  as  though  some  cruel 
stimulant  had  been  forced  into  her  veins. 

She  could  bear  it — yes,  she  could  bear  it;  but  what 
strength  wmuld  be  left  her  the  next  day?  Perspective  had 
disappeared — the  next  day  pressed  close  upon  her,  and 
on  its  heels  came  the  days  that  were  to  follow — they 
swarmed  about  her  like  a shrieking  mob.  She  must  shut 
them  out  for  a few  hours ; she  must  take  a brief  bath  of 
oolivion.  She  put  out  her  hand,  and  measured  the  sooth- 
[ 520  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ing  drops  into  a glass;  but  as  she  did  so,  she  knew  they 
would  be  powerless  against  the  supernatural  lucidity  of 
her  brain.  She  had  long  since  raised  the  dose  to  its  high- 
est limit,  but  tonight  she  felt  she  must  increase  it.  She 
knew  she  took  a slight  risk  in  doing  so — she  remembered 
the  chemist’s  warning.  If  sleep  came  at  all,  it  might  be 
a sleep  without  waking.  But  after  all  that  was  but  one 
chance  in  a hundred:  the  action  of  the  drug  was  incal- 
culable, and  the  addition  of  a few  drops  to  the  regular 
dose  would  probably  do  no  more  than  procure  for  her 
the  rest  she  so  desperately  needed.  . . . 

She  did  not,  in  truth,  consider  the  question  very  closely 
— the  physical  craving  for  sleep  was  her  only  sustained 
sensation.  Her  mind  shi’ank  from  the  glare  of  thought 
as  instinctively  as  eyes  contract  in  a blaze  of  light — 
darkness,  darkness  was  what  she  must  have  at  any  cost. 
She  raised  herself  in  bed  and  swallowed  the  contents  of 
the  glass ; then  she  blew  out  her  candle  and  lay  down. 

She  lay  very  still,  waiting  with  a sensuous  pleasure  for 
the  first  effects  of  the  soporific.  She  knew  in  advance  what 
form  they  would  take — the  gradual  cessation  of  the  in- 
ner throb,  the  soft  approach  of  passiveness,  as  though 
an  invisible  hand  made  magic  passes  over  her  in  the  dark- 
ness. The  very  slowness  and  hesitancy  of  the  effect  in- 
creased its  fascination : it  was  delicious  to  lean  over  and 
look  down  into  the  dim  abysses  of  unconsciousness.  To- 
night the  drag  seemed  to  work  more  slowly  than  usual; 
[ «2i  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


each  passionate  pulse  had  to  be  stilled  in  turn,  and  it 
was  long  before  she  felt  them  dropping  into  abeyance, 
like  sentinels  falling  asleep  at  their  posts.  But  gradually 
the  sense  of  complete  subjugation  came  over  her,  and  she 
wondered  languidly  what  had  made  her  feel  so  uneasy 
and  excited.  She  saw  now  that  there  was  nothing  to  be 
excited  about- — she  had  returned  to  her  normal  view  of 
life.  Tomorrow  would  not  be  so  difficult  after  all:  she 
felt  sure  that  she  would  have  the  strength  to  meet  it. 
She  did  not  quite  remember  what  it  was  that  she  had 
been  afraid  to  meet,  but  the  uncertainty  no  longer  trou- 
bled her.  She  had  been  unhappy,  and  now  she  was  happy 
— she  had  felt  herself  alone,  and  now  the  sense  of  loneli- 
ness had  vanished. 

She  stiiTed  once,  and  turned  on  her  side,  and  as  she 
did  so,  she  suddenly  understood  why  she  did  not  feel  her- 
self alone.  It  was  odd — but  Nettie  Struther’s  child  was 
lying  on  her  arm : she  felt  the  pressure  of  its  little  head 
against  her  shoulder.  She  did  not  know  how  it  had  come 
there,  but  she  felt  no  great  surprise  at  the  fact,  only  a 
gentle  penetrating  thrill  of  w’armth  and  pleasure.  She 
settled  herself  into  an  easier  position,  hollowing  her  arm 
to  pillow  the  round  downy  head,  and  holding  her  breath 
lest  a sound  should  disturb  the  sleeping  cliild. 

As  she  lay  there  she  said  to  herself  that  there  was  some- 
thing she  must  tell  Selden,  some  word  she  had  found  that 
should  make  life  clear  between  them.  She  tried  to  repeat 
[ 522  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


the  word,  which  lingered  vague  and  luminous  on  the  far 
edge  of  thought — she  was  afraid  of  not  remembering  it 
when  she  woke;  and  if  she  could  only  remember  it  and 
say  it  to  him,  she  felt  that  everything  would  be  well. 

Slowly  the  thought  of  the  word  faded,  and  sleep  be- 
gan to  enfold  lier.  She  struggled  faintly  against  it,  feel- 
ing that  she  ought  to  keep  awake  on  account  of  the  baby ; 
but  even  this  feeling  was  gradually  lost  in  an  indistinct 
sense  of  drowsy  peace,  through  which,  of  a sudden,  a dark 
flash  of  loneliness  and  terror  tore  its  way. 

She  started  up  again,  cold  and  trembling  with  the 
shock : for  a moment  she  seemed  to  have  lost  her  hold 
of  the  child.  But  no — she  was  mistaken — the  tender 
pressure  of  its  body  was  still  close  to  hers : the  recovered 
warmth  flowed  through  her  once  more,  she  yielded  to  it, 
sank  into  it,  and  slept. 


XIV 

The  next  morning  rose  mild  and  bright,  with  a 
promise  of  summer  in  the  air.  The  sunlight 
slanted  joyously  down  Lily’s  street,  mellowed  the  blis- 
tered house-front,  gilded  the  paintless  railings  of  the 
door-step,  and  struck  prismatic  glories  from  the  panes 
of  her  darkened  window. 

When  such  a day  coincides  with  the  inner  mood 
there  is  intoxication  in  its  breath;  and  Selden,  hasten- 
[ 523  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


ing  along  the  street  through  the  squalor  of  its  morning 
confidences,  felt  himself  thrilling  with  a youthful  sense 
of  adventure.  He  had  cut  loose  from  the  familiar  shores 
of  habit,  and  launched  himself  on  uncharted  seas  of  emo- 
tion; all  the  old  tests  and  measures  were  left  behind, 
and  his  course  was  to  be  shaped  by  new  stars. 

That  course,  for  the  moment,  led  merely  to  Miss 
Bart’s  hoarding-house;  but  its  shabby  door-step  had 
suddenly  become  the  threshold  of  the  untried.  As  he 
approached  he  looked  up  at  the  triple  row  of  windows, 
wondering  boyishly  which  one  of  them  was  hers.  It  was 
nine  o’clock,  and  the  house,  being  tenanted  by  workers, 
already  showed  an  awakened  front  to  the  street.  He 
remembered  afterward  having  noticed  that  only  one 
blind  was  down.  He  noticed  too  that  there  was  a pot  of 
pansies  on  one  of  the  window  sUls,  and  at  once  con- 
cluded that  the  window  must  be  hers:  it  was  inevitable 
that  he  should  connect  her  with  the  one  touch  of  beauty 
in  the  dingy  scene. 

Nine  o’clock  was  an  early  hour  for  a visit,  but  Selden 
had  passed  beyond  all  such  conventional  observances. 
He  only  knew  that  he  must  see  Lily  Bart  at  once — he 
had  found  the  word  he  meant  to  say  to  her,  and  it 
could  not  wait  another  moment  to  be  said.  It  was 
strange  that  it  had  not  come  to  his  lips  sooner — that 
he  had  let  her  pass  from  him  the  evening  before  with- 
out being  able  to  speak  it.  But  what  did  that  matter, 
[ 524  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 

now  that  a new  day  had  come  P It  was  not  a word  foi 
twilight,  but  for  the  morning. 

Selden  ran  eagerly  up  the  steps  and  pulled  the  bell; 
and  even  in  his  state  of  self-absorption  it  came  as  a 
shaip  surprise  to  him  that  the  door  should  open  so 
promptly.  It  was  stiU  more  of  a surprise  to  see,  as  he 
entered,  that  it  had  been  opened  by  Gerty  Farish — - 
and  that  behind  her,  in  an  agitated  blur,  several  other 
figures  ominously  loomed. 

“Lawrence!”  Gerty  cried  in  a strange  voice,  “how 
could  you  get  here  so  quickly.?” — and  the  trembling 
hand  she  laid  on  him  seemed  instantly  to  close  about 
his  heart. 

He  noticed  the  other  faces,  vague  with  fear  and  con- 
jecture— he  saw  the  landlady’s  imposing  bulk  sway 
professionally  toward  him;  but  he  shi’ank  back,  put- 
ting up  his  hand,  while  his  eyes  mechanically  mounted 
the  steep  black  walnut  stairs,  up  which  he  was  imme- 
diately aware  that  his  cousin  was  about  to  lead  him. 

A voice  in  the  background  said  that  the  doctor 
might  be  back  at  any  minute — and  that  nothing,  up- 
stairs, was  to  be  disturbed.  Some  one  else  exclaimed. 
“It  was  the  greatest  mercy — ” then  Selden  felt  that 
Gerty  had  taken  him  gently  by  the  hand,  and  that 
they  were  to  be  suffered  to  go  up  alone. 

In  silence  they  mounted  the  three  flights,  and  walked 
along  the  passage  to  a closed  door.  Gerty  opened  the 
[ 525  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


door,  and  Selden  went  in  after  her.  Though  the  blind 
was  down,  the  irresistible  sunlight  poured  a tempered 
golden  flood  into  the  room,  and  in  its  light  Selden  saw 
a narrow  bed  along  the  wall,  and  on  the  bed,  with  mo- 
tionless hands  and  calm  unrecognizing  face,  the  sem- 
blance of  Lily  Bart 

That  it  was  her  real  self,  every  pulse  in  him  ardently 
denied.  Her  real  self  had  lain  warm  on  his  heart  but  a 
few  hours  earlier — what  had  he  to  do  with  this  estranged 
and  tranquil  face  which,  for  the  first  time,  neither  paled 
nor  brightened  at  his  coming? 

Gerty,  strangely  tranquil  too,  with  the  conscious 
self-control  of  one  who  has  ministered  to  much  pain, 
stood  by  the  bed,  speaking  gently,  as  if  transmitting  a 
final  message. 

“The  doctor  found  a bottle  of  chloral — she  had 
been  sleeping  badly  for  a long  time,  and  she  must  have 
taken  an  over-dose  by  mistake.  . . . There  is  no  doubt 
of  that — no  doubt — there  wiU  be  no  question — he 
has  been  very  kind.  I told  him  that  you  and  I would 
Hke  to  be  left  alone  with  her — to  go  over  her  things 
before  any  one  else  comes.  I know  it  is  what  she  would 
have  wished.” 

Selden  was  hardly  conscious  of  what  she  said.  He 
stood  looking  dovm  on  the  sleeping  face  which  seemed 
to  lie  like  a delicate  impalpable  mask  over  the  linng 
lineaments  he  had  knowm.  He  felt  that  the  real  Lily 
[ 626  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


was  still  there,  close  to  him,  yet  invisible  and  inacces- 
sible; and  the  tenuity  of  the  barrier  between  them 
mocked  him  with  a sense  of  helplessness.  There  had 
never  been  more  than  a little  impalpable  barrier  be- 
tween them — and  yet  he  had  suffered  it  to  keep  them 
apart!  And  now,  though  it  seemed  slighter  and  frailer 
than  ever,  it  had  suddenly  hardened  to  adamant,  and  he 
might  beat  his  life  out  against  it  in  vain. 

He  had  di’opped  on  his  knees  beside  the  bed,  but  a 
touch  from  Gerty  aroused  him.  He  stood  up,  and  as  their 
eyes  met  he  was  struck  by  the  extraordinary  light  in  his 
cousin’s  face. 

*‘You  understand  what  the  doctor  has  gone  for?  He 
has  promised  that  there  shall  be  no  trouble — but  of 
course  the  formalities  must  be  gone  through.  And  I asked 
him  to  give  us  time  to  look  through  her  things  first 

He  nodded,  and  she  glanced  about  the  small  bare  room. 
‘*It  won’t  take  long,”  she  concluded. 

“No — it  won’t  take  long,”  he  agreed. 

She  held  his  hand  in  hers  a moment  longer,  and  then^ 
with  a last  look  at  the  bed,  moved  silently  toward  the 
door.  On  the  threshold  she  paused  to  add:  “You  will 
find  me  downstairs  if  you  want  me.” 

Selden  roused  himself  to  detain  her.  “But  why  are  you 
going?  She  would  have  wished ” 

Gerty  shook  her  head  with  a smile.  “No:  this  is  what 

she  would  have  wished ” and  as  she  spoke  a light 

[ 527  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


broke  through  Selden’s  stony  misery,  and  he  saw  deep 
into  the  hidden  things  of  love. 

The  door  closed  on  Gerty,  and  he  stood  alone  with  the 
motionless  sleeper  on  the  bed.  His  impulse  was  to  return 
to  her  side,  to  fall  on  his  knees,  and  rest  his  throbbing 
head  against  the  peaceful  cheek  on  the  pillow.  They  had 
never  been  at  peace  together,  they  two ; and  now  he  felt 
himself  drawn  downward  into  the  strange  mysterious 
depths  of  her  tranquillity. 

But  he  remembered  Gerty’s  warning  words — he  knew 
that,  though  time  had  ceased  in  this  room,  its  feet  were 
hastening  relentlessly  toward  the  door.  Gerty  had  given 
him  this  supreme  half-hour,  and  he  must  use  it  as  she 
willed. 

He  turned  and  looked  about  him,  sternly  compelling 
himself  to  regain  his  consciousness  of  outward  things. 
There  was  very  little  furniture  in  the  room.  The  shabby 
chest  of  drawers  was  spread  with  a lace  cover,  and  set  out 
with  a few  gold -topped  boxes  and  bottles,  a rose-coloured 
pin-cushion,  a glass  tray  strewn  with  tortoise-shell  hair- 
pins— he  shrank  from  the  poignant  intimacy  of  these 
trifles,  and  from  the  blank  surface  of  the  toilet-mirror 
above  them. 

These  were  the  only  traces  of  luxury,  of  that  clinging 
to  the  minute  observance  of  personal  seemliness,  which 
showed  what  her  other  renunciations  must  have  cost. 
There  was  no  other  token  of  her  personality  about  the 
[ 528  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


room,  unless  it  showed  itself  in  the  scrupulous  neatness 
of  the  scant  articles  of  furniture:  a washing-stand,  two 
chairs,  a small  writing-  desk,  and  the  little  table  near  the 
bed.  On  this  table  stood  the  empty  bottle  and  glass,  and 
from  these  also  he  averted  his  eyes. 

The  desk  was  closed,  but  on  its  slanting  lid  lay  two 
letters  which  he  took  up.  One  bore  the  address  of  a bank, 
and  as  it  was  stamped  and  sealed,  Selden,  after  a mo- 
ment’s hesitation,  laid  it  aside.  On  the  other  letter  he 
read  Gus  Trenor’s  name;  and  the  flap  of  the  envelope 
was  stiU  ungummedo 

Temptation  leapt  on  him  like  the  stab  of  a knife.  He 
staggered  under  it,  steadying  himself  against  the  desk. 
Why  had  she  been  writing  to  Trenor — writing,  presum- 
ably,  just  after  their  parting  of  the  previous  evening? 
The  thought  unhallowed  the  memory  of  that  last  hour, 
made  a mock  of  the  word  he  had  come  to  speak,  and 
defiled  even  the  reconciling  silence  upon  which  it  felL 
He  felt  himself  flung  back  on  all  the  ugly  uncertainties 
from  which  he  thought  he  had  cast  loose  forever.  After 
aUj  what  did  he  know  of  her  life?  Only  as  much  as  she 
had  chosen  to  show  him,  and  measured  by  the  world’s 
estimate,  how  little  that  was!  By  what  right — the  letter 
in  his  hand  seemed  to  ask — by  what  right  was  it  he 
who  now  passed  into  her  confidence  through  the  gate 
which  death  had  left  unbarred?  His  heart  cried  out  that 
it  was  by  right  of  their  last  hour  together,  the  hour 

[ 529  1 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


wrhen  she  herself  had  placed  the  key  in  his  hand.  Yes  — 
but  what  if  the  letter  to  Trenor  had  been  written  after- 
ward? 

He  put  it  from  him  with  sudden  loathing,  and  setting 
his  lips,  addressed  himself  resolutely  to  what  remained 
cf  his  task.  After  all,  that  task  would  be  easier  to  per 
Icrm,  now  that  his  personal  stake  in  it  was  annullecL 

He  raised  the  lid  of  the  desk,  and  saw  within  it  a 
cheque-book  and  a few  packets  of  bills  and  letters,  ar- 
ranged with  the  orderly  precision  which  characterised 
all  her  personal  habits.  He  looked  through  the  letters 
first,  because  it  was  the  most  difficult  part  of  the  work. 
They  proved  to  be  few  and  unimportant,  but  among 
them  he  found,  with  a strange  commotion  of  the  heart, 
the  note  he  had  wTitten  her  the  day  after  the  Biy’s' 
entertainment. 

“When  may  1 come  to  you?” — his  words  overwhelmed 
him  with  a realization  of  the  cowardice  which  had  driven 
him  from  her  at  the  very  moment  of  attainment.  Yes — 
he  had  always  feared  his  fate,  and  he  was  too  honest  to 
disown  his  cowardice  now^  for  had  not  all  his  old  doubts 
started  to  life  again  at  the  mere  sight  of  Trenor  s name? 

He  laid  the  note  in  his  card-case,  folding  it  away  care- 
fully, as  something  made  precious  by  the  fact  that  she 
had  held  it  so;  then,  growing  once  more  aware  of  the 
lapse  of  time,  he  continued  his  examination  of  the  papers. 

To  his  surprise,  he  found  that  all  the  bills  were  re- 

[ 530  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OE  MIRTH 


ceipted;  there  was  not  an  unpaid  account  among  thenu 
He  opened  the  cheque-book,  and  saw  that,  the  very  night 
befoi'e,  a cheque  of  ten  thousand  dollars  from  Mrs.  Penis- 
ton’s  executors  had  been  entered  in  it.  The  legacy,  then, 
had  been  paid  sooner  than  Gerty  had  led  him  to  expect. 
But,  turning  another  page  or  two,  he  discovered  with 
astonishment  that,  in  spite  of  this  recent  accession  of 
funds,  the  balance  had  ah’eady  declined  to  a few  dollars. 
A rapid  glance  at  the  stubs  of  the  last  cheques,  all  of 
which  bore  the  date  of  the  previous  day,  showed  that 
between  four  or  five  hundred  dollars  of  the  legacy  had 
been  spent  in  the  settlement  of  bills,  while  the  remaining 
thousands  were  comprehended  in  one  cheque,  made  out, 
at  the  same  time,  to  Charles  Augustus  Trenor. 

Selden  laid  the  book  aside,  and  sank  into  the  chair  be- 
side the  desk.  He  leaned  his  elbows  on  it,  and  hid  his 
face  in  his  hands.  The  bitter  waters  of  life  surged  high 
about  him,  their  sterile  taste  was  on  his  lips.  Did  the 
cheque  to  Trenor  explain  the  mystery  or  deepen  it?  At 
first  his  mind  refused  to  act — he  felt  only  the  taint  of 
such  a transaction  between  a man  like  Trenor  and  a 
girl  like  Lily  Bart.  Then,  gradually,  his  troubled  vision 
cleared,  old  hints  and  rumours  came  back  to  him,  and 
out  of  the  very  insinuations  he  had  feared  to  probe,  he 
constructed  an  explanation  of  the  mystery.  It  was  tme, 
then,  that  she  had  taken  money  from  Trenor;  but  true 
also,  as  the  contents  of  the  little  desk  declared,  that  the 
[ 631  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


obligation  had  been  intolerable  to  her,  and  that  at  the 
first  opportunity  she  had  freed  herself  from  it,  though 
the  act  left  her  face  to  face  with  bare  unmitigated  pov- 
erty. 

That  was  all  he  knew — all  he  could  hope  to  unravel 
of  the  story.  The  mute  lips  on  the  pillow  refiised  him 
more  than  this — unless  indeed  they  had  told  him  the 
rest  in  the  kiss  they  had  left  upon  his  foreheads  Yes,  he 
could  now  read  into  that  farewell  all  that  his  heart  craved 
to  find  there;  he  could  even  draw  from  it  courage  not  to 
Accuse  himself  for  having  failed  to  reach  the  height  of 
his  opportunity. 

He  saw  that  aU  the  conditions  of  life  had  conspired  to 
keep  them  apart;  since  his  very  detachment  from  the 
external  influences  which  swayed  her  had  increased  his 
spiritual  fastidiousness,  and  made  it  more  difiicult  for 
him  to  live  and  love  uncritically.  But  at  least  he  had  loved 
her — had  been  willing  to  stake  his  futiire  on  his  faith 
in  her — and  if  the  moment  had  been  fated  to  pass  from 
them  before  they  could  seize  it,  he  saw  now  that,  for  both, 
it  had  been  saved  whole  out  of  the  ruin  of  their  lives. 

It  was  this  moment  of  love,  this  fleeting  victory  over 
themselves,  which  had  kept  them  from  atrophy  and  ex- 
tinction ; which,  in  her,  had  reached  out  to  him  in  every 
struggle  against  the  influence  of  her  surroundings,  and 
in  him,  had  kept  alive  the  faith  that  now  drew  him  peni- 
tent and  reconciled  to  her  side. 

[ 532  ] 


THE  HOUSE  OF  MIRTH 


He  knelt  by  the  bed  and  bent  over  her,  draining  theh 
last  moment  to  its  lees;  and  in  the  silence  there  passed 
between  them  the  word  which  made  all  clear. 


THE  ENB 


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Duke  University  Libraries 


